


My Only Sunshine

by Nepetas_Apprentice



Category: Eddsworld - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bakery, Alternate Universe - Secret Society, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Slow Burn, child!Tord - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-10
Updated: 2019-06-10
Packaged: 2020-04-24 08:50:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 90,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19169860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nepetas_Apprentice/pseuds/Nepetas_Apprentice
Summary: Tord was lucky, he guessed, to have so many people who cared about him. There was Paul, the man who had raised him, alone, his whole life. Then Patryk, the adult Tord never asked for and the friend Paul so desperately needed. And somewhere out in the world, a woman, the mother he’d left one bloody night seven years before.





	1. Lists

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spur of the moment decision to post this on AO3, more for archiving sake than anything else.
> 
> Content warning in this chapter for panic attacks.

_1\. Don’t piss off the aftercare teachers._

__2._ Don’t avoid Bing._

__3._ Don’t forget the cupcakes_ _._

__4._ Don’t freak out._

The list had only been in Paul’s pocket for a few minutes, but already it had crumpled and smeared, the letters dissolving into each other with reckless abandon. Paul had not noticed yet, and likely never would, because he had already taken the liberty of memorizing the lines and repeating them back to himself throughout the course of his trip.

He was at the 107th go around when he finally walked up to the front doors of Durdham Primary School. The building had been painted over with a shiny bluish-gray some years before, but now the paint had started to chip and he could see that the bricks underneath were the same color as the heavy wooden doors. He pressed the doorbell to his left and then stood back to wait, not making eye contact with the camera as he was sure someone in the office was likely peering down at him right that moment. Or, maybe everyone had gone home and there was no one there to scrutinize his unshaven face. It would not be the first time such a thing happened.

_1\. Don’t piss off the aftercare teachers._

Luckily, the lock buzzed, and Paul swung the door open before the office worker got tired of holding down the button. The school hallway was heavy with silence, allowing Paul’s footsteps to echo through the empty space and sound monstrous in the confines of the cramped corridor. He had been by several times during school hours, when the hallways and classrooms had been packed with screeching children, and he had found that roar nearly deafening. This, somehow, was worse. The nothingness here was heavy, lying on top of him like a thick blanket and almost seeming to suffocate him. During the day, he could hardly hear himself think when he walked through these halls. Now, his thoughts seemed to scream inside of his head.

At the far end of the hallway, past all the closed classroom doors and cork boards hung with children’s drawings, a heavy set of gray doors led into the gymnasium. The light coming through the windows in the doors was weak, signaling to Paul that the staff had already started to shut down for the evening. Despite that he kept at his slow pace, admiring some of the artwork on the way. Most of them were lumpy animals painted completely with primary colors, the students’ names written in the lower right corner in sharpie. He was pretty sure the kids who made them were on the younger side, although it was hard to say for sure, as he so rarely got to see what his son had made in class. He was still musing about that as he pushed the gym door open and took a half-step inside.

“Tord?” Paul called, sticking his head in and looking around. As he had suspected, half of the room was already sunk into darkness, while the half that remained lit contained just two lonely figures. The shorter one perked up immediately at the sound of the door opening, and was throwing its things into an old blue backpack before Paul opened his mouth.

The other person, taller and leaning against the wall, stretched before meandering over, the bottoms of his shoes clicking against the floor. His bald head shone under the fluorescent lights. Paul knew from the look in his eyes that this was not a man looking for a pleasant chat.

“Come on, Tord, we have to go,” Paul shouted, and the boy seemed to get the message, shoving the last of his things in his pack before sprinting across the room.

“Hey, wait a minute, Paul, we need to-“

“Sorry, no time,” Paul shouted to the bald man. He stepped back to push the door open a little wide and Tord blasted through, tearing up the hallway and filling it with the clap of his sneakers against the linoleum. Paul was already rushing after him, letting the door swing shut as he did so. “It’ll have to wait. Goodnight!”

“Paul!” Paul was already halfway up the hallway when the door finally banged hut behind them. The other man’s shouts were cut off, and Paul knew from experience that he would not follow.

_2\. Don’t avoid Bing._

Paul skidded to a stop just outside. Tord stopped and turned to look at him, eyes wide with questions.

“Shit,” Paul breathed. He glanced back at the doors, already shut behind them, trying to judge whether it would be worth not only pressing the buzzer again and looking like an idiot, but also possibly facing more staff members the he had managed to piss off at some point. “Your teacher’s probably not still here, is he?”

Tord thought for a moment. “Yeah, pretty unlikely. I bet he’s already at home, putting off grading our tests, like always.”

“Exactly,” Paul said. He took one step away from the school, and then another. His list felt like it was burning a hole in his pocket, but he tried his best to ignore the feeling. Technically, he had remembered that he was supposed to talk to the teacher, and it was just a case of poor timing that prevented him from setting up a meeting that afternoon. At the same time, he was aware that it was fully within his power to go back in and find him, and this knowledge created an uncomfortable knot in his stomach that went away only slowly.

“How were things at school today?” he asked, hopeful that some good news would offset the twisting in his gut.

Tord shrugged, and Paul felt some of his hope start to slide away.

“Do anything fun in class?”

“Not really. I mean, kind of.” Tord’s hands were buried deep inside his pockets, and he was staring at the ground while he walked. “We drew birds today, but I was in the hallway when everyone else was drawing.”

“Why were you sitting in the hallway?”

“Bing told me to.”

“And why would he do that?”

“I don’t know, maybe he was mad at me?”

“Tord,” Paul stated, his voice firmer than before. The change in tone seemed to snap Tord out of his weird state, and he finally looked up at Paul while the man spoke. “Why would your teacher be mad at you?”

Tord watched him a moment longer. Paul could see the words forming on his lips, trying to come up with the best way to word it, so he let Tord take all of the time he needed, walking silently while his son mulled over the question.

“I threw Jon’s calculator.”

Paul stiffened. “You threw it at Jon?”

“No!” Tord cried. “Just in the air, and then it hit the ground. The cover kind of cracked.”

“So you broke Jon’s calculator.” Paul tried to imagine what it would cost to replace a kid’s calculator. With his luck, it was going to be the graphing kind that cost £75 and had 50 extra buttons.

“It didn’t break the calculator, just the cover for it,” Tord insisted. He finally looked away from Paul and back at his own feet. “He was being really annoying, and so I took his calculator and threw it. He said you weren’t a real soldier.”

Paul sighed as they came to a stop at a crosswalk. The traffic signal was green, and cars flashed by in front of them, many of them going too fast for the narrow neighborhood streets. Seeing that they had a moment before they could walk again, Paul leaned down and turned Tord’s shoulder to face him.

“I know that Jon and his group annoy you a lot, Tord, but you can’t fall apart whenever one of them wants to get to you,” he said. He was pretty sure he had said those exact words before, but he tried to push the feeling aside. Maybe this time, his words would actually be heard. “They’re jerks, all of them, and also idiots. Not worth your time. They can only get to you if you let them, so if you can show them that you’re not interested, they’ll have no choice but to leave you alone. Okay?”

Tord looked like there was something more he wanted to say, but he swallowed down his words and simply nodded his head. “Okay.”

Paul tried to offer a reassuring smile. “Did you apologize to Jon?”

Tord shrugged. “Bing made me.” He glanced away from Paul, towards the street. “We can go now.”

Paul looked up at the exact same moment the signal started to flash “Don’t Walk” in red block letters at them. He jumped up and, taking Tord’s hand, dashed across the street before they got stuck waiting a second time. They slowed down once they were on the other side, Tord panting somewhat but otherwise fine, adjusting his backpack on his shoulders. Even Paul, who had once been able to jog for miles without breaking a sweat, felt winded after their quick sprint, although he tried his best to hide it.

“You’re not supposed to be telling people I was a soldier, anyway,” he said, ignoring the way his chest begged for air.

Tord offered up no explanation, and Paul decided it would be easiest just to let the matter slide.

_3\. Don’t forget the cupcakes._

They were nearly to the bakery when Tord finally realized that they were not following the route to their apartment. He voiced his concern to Paul, who nodded.

“Yeah, the PTA’s hosting a party for the teachers tonight,” he said. “Hillary told me to pick up the cupcakes they ordered.”

“Are they making you pay for them?” Tord asked, wrinkling his nose.

“No, they’ve got a little bit saved up that they use for special occasions like this,” Paul said. “They already ordered and paid, we just have to get it.”

Tord rolled his eyes. “Really? Cupcakes?”

“Not everyone hates sweets as much as you,” Paul shrugged. “Besides, now they have to stop saying I’ve never done anything for them. Win-win, right?”

“What do I win?”

“Uh.” Paul stumbled on his words. He should have been used to this by now, the way Tord could take any conversation and flip it into a completely different direction, but it always managed to catch him off-guard and leave him struggling to think of what to say, let alone how he should feel about the whole thing. “Nothing, I guess. A nice walk?”

“Hmph.” Tord was dissatisfied with the answer, but he let the conversation end just as abruptly as he had started it, returning his focus to the sidewalk in front of them. Paul watched him a moment longer before he did the same, knowing that if he stared for too long it would make the boy irritable. He wished, not for the first time, that he could take a peek inside his son’s head. Of course, wishing in general never led to anything productive, so he let the thought slide not a moment after it came to him.

The bakery itself was on a side street, out of view of the main road. There were a couple of green tables out front with folding chairs, and a sign listing some of the cakes they had available. There were two large windows in the front that allowed Paul to peer inside before they entered, and he noticed that a sizable line had already formed leading up to the register. He stepped through the doors first, holding it open so that Tord could squeeze in with his drooping backpack.

The inside of the bakery was a comfortable temperature, a bit cooler than outside but not enough to raise goosebumps. The floor was a black-and-white checkerboard pattern, and the light blue walls gave everything a gentle ambient glow. There were a few short white tables near the windows, each with one or two folding chairs pulled up to them, and in that moment Paul wanted nothing more than to relax onto one and forget about everything else he had to do for the day. There was still the cupcakes to contend with, though, not to mention his frighteningly empty wallet, so he ignored the urge and stepped up to the back of the line.

He took another glance around. Comfortable as the place was, there was something off about it, and Paul almost felt something like eyes on him. The hairs on the back of his neck started to prickle.

“Paul?” Tord said. He startled a bit when the boy’s hand took his own, but he let Tord hold him there. “Are you okay?”

“Y- Yeah, sorry, Tord,” Paul sighed, looking down to meet his son’s eyes. “Felt kind of off for a second there, but I think it’s going to pass.”

“Don’t be stupid. We can go if you have to.”

“I’m fine,” Paul said, still feeling too shaky to tell Tord off for his language. His heartbeat was regular, and he was taking normal, even breaths. He just needed something to distract himself with while they waited in line, and his thoughts turned to the list he still held in his pocket.

_1\. Don’t piss off the aftercare teachers._

_2\. Don’t avoid Bing._

_3\. Don’t forget the cupcakes._

_4\. Don’t freak out._

He paused. Had he imagined it, or was it possible for a flash of color to be recognizable? In the kitchen, he swore he saw a red something dart behind the doorway while his gaze had been wandering across the store.

_2\. Don’t avoid Bing._

_3\. Don’t forget the cupcakes._

_4\. Don’t freak out._

“Paul?”

Tord was still holding his hand. Paul reached up with the other one to adjust the collar of his shirt.

“I’m fine, Tord. We just… Let’s just get the cupcakes, and we’ll go, okay?”

_3\. Don’t forget the cupcakes._

_4\. Don’t freak out._

Someone had turned on the air conditioner, they must have, although he couldn’t hear it over the voices of the people at the front of the line. Did they have to talk so loud? It was making his head hurt, their words cutting into him and making his heart throb painfully in his chest.

“This is, it’s, uh, it’s too important. I, uh, I have to…” He searched around the shop, trying to remember his list. The pieces were all there, just within his reach, and he knew that something in the store would remind him. Not the customers, not Tord, not the tables, not the windows… He spun around to check the kitchen.

_4\. Don’t freak out._

He spun around, and he saw.

_4\. Don’t freak out._

He knew those eyes like he knew that hair and that sweater. He knew that face, that small grin already appearing, he knew those ears and those fingers, except those fingers belonged around a gun, not a rolling pin, a gun and a knife and a throat and  _his_  throat—

Paul couldn’t breathe.

_4\. Don’t freak out._

Paul was dying and they were strangling him and his heart was pounding, he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t breathe. He tried to gasp for air but his lungs were already filled, not filled enough, someone was saying his name.

“Paul!”

Tord was squeezing his hand, so hard the bones hurt. Right, Tord, he couldn’t die here because Tord would be alone, if they killed Paul then they would kill Tord too and if Tord died—

“Paul!”

Paul squeezed his hand back. He didn’t say anything, mostly because he couldn’t, but when he lurched towards the door Tord followed easily.

He wasn’t sure how they got through the door, or down the street, focusing instead on breathing, breathing, getting air into his lungs, gathering his racing thoughts. Everything was happening all at once, he couldn’t focus on one thought before another and another and another took its place. He needed to slow down, heart and breath to slow down, slow down…

He and Tord sat together for ten minutes, while he waited for the attack to pass. His body hurt and his limbs tingled, but as the time passed he started to feel more like himself and became more aware of their surroundings. Tord had taken them to a narrow alleyway and had sat against a bare brick wall. The ground was filthy and decorated with cigarette butts, and both of them sank into it, the tip of Tord’s backpack sliding into a puddle of dirty water that gathered as something high above them dripped. There sunlight did not reach the ground in that narrow alley, but Paul was grateful for it, his head still pounding and not ready to face any bright lights or loud noises. He glanced over at Tord, and the boy immediately looked up at him, eyes wide and face dusted pink. Paul’s gaze wandered, not on purpose, sliding away from Tord’s face and to the opposite brick wall, and then back again. He glanced at Tord’s backpack along the way and noted how the tape had started to peel and tear.

“Mm.” He tried to talk, but his mouth was dry and it took several tries to get the words out. “New backpack. Sunday.”

“I don’t want one,” Tord said. His voice was quiet, but his gaze was locked with Paul’s, daring the man to argue with him. At the same time, he gripped Paul’s hand in his own, rubbing his thumb over the skin in tight circles. It was an uncomfortable feeling, but the sensation gave Paul something to latch onto as he came back to reality.

Paul took a deep breath in, then let it out through his nose, feeling the tension leach out of his body and letting his head loll back against the wall. “Cupcakes,” he said. “Can’t forget them.” He made to stand up, but his legs still felt weak under him and he leaned back. He knew that he could not walk the several meters back to the bakery. The two kilometers to their apartment would be no problem, but those few meters were too much to ask of himself.

Give up, his thoughts said. Lie down here and don’t even bother. It’s not worth it. He had heard these words before, and as always he wanted so badly to listen to them and pass out right there, give up on himself and this whole stupid idea.

Instead, he turned to Tord, and with all the strength he could muster said, “I need help.”

Tord was already standing, his grip still entwined with Paul’s but loosening. Paul was the one to finally break their hold, pulling his hand away so that he could reach into his pants pocket.

“It shouldn’t be hard,” he said, retrieving his wallet and searching through it. A moment later, he pulled out a check and handed it to Tord. “Just go up, tell them my name, and give them this. If you need help, just ask one of them to carry it outside.”

“But not the tall guy, right?” Tord asked.

Paul swallowed. “Right.” He tried to stand again, hopeful that he could walk with his son at least part of the way, but it proved to be too much of a strain and he sunk back down, grateful for the solid concrete beneath him.

“It’s fine, Paul,” Tord said. “I can make it there on my own.” Again, Paul thought he should scold the boy for his snark, but instead he let it go, waving Tord off so that the boy walked around the corner and was gone. Alone now, Paul just focused on breathing, getting the air into his lungs and pushing it back out again. He was trying to avoid thinking for as long as possible. Forever, if he could, or barring that, until Tord came back out with the cupcakes.

It took several minutes before Paul felt confident that his legs would hold him up. His first steps away from the wall were shaky, although this was hardly a new sensation for him. He slowly made his way back to the front of the building, trying to stay steady and keep his balance so no one would mistake him for a drunk. As soon as he could see the door and know that Tord was not out yet, he let himself slow down, coming to a complete stop while he was still several feet away to keep out of view of the windows. Several people passed him by, but none seemed to notice him, and he just hoped that they would all leave him alone while he waited for his son.

The minutes dragged on, Paul trying his best to think about nothing but his own breathing. Without noticing, he pulled out a cigarette, lit it, and took a long drag, sighing into the feeling as it helped to calm him down. Still, anxiety lurked beneath the haze of smoke, and several times he felt his thoughts moving back towards unknowable possibilities. He imagined the staff asking Tord about his father, wondering where he was and why he was ignoring his poor, innocent child. He imagined them refusing to give their purchase over to a child, and Tord causing a scene right there in the shop. Worst of all, and he tried not to imagine this, the idea of that man seeing Tord, recognizing some part of Paul’s face in Tord and locking onto the boy. The very worst thing for him to think about was Tord, alone, within earshot of a man in a bright red sweater, so of course that was the image he kept coming back to, over and over even as the cigarette between his fingers grew shorter.

His left knee was quivering slightly when the front door finally opened and Tord backed out carrying a large box with a paper bag sitting on top of it. Paul dropped his cigarette and, wary of the windows, rushed forward to help Tord, taking the box from him while Tord continued to hold the door open with his small body.

“Thank you,” Paul breathed as he rushed past the windows once more, pausing only once he was certain that nobody looking out could see him. Tord followed, going a step beyond just to ensure that they were both in the clear. “Thank you, Tord. You have no idea how much this means to me.”

“Yeah I do,” Tord said, tapping the back of Paul’s arm. “Hey, lean down for a second.”

Paul complied, watching his son reach up on top of the box and pull off the bag. A piece of paper shot off with it, fluttering in the air for a moment before floating down. Paul tried to catch it, but the task was impossible while carrying the large box. Tord snatched it off the ground, giving Paul only enough time to notice that it was baby blue before it disappeared into Tord’s back pocket.

“Hey what is that?” Paul asked, looking at where the paper had vanished. Tord instead held up the paper bag.

“It’s a cookie,” he said. “They gave it to me.”

“Who did?” Paul said, immediately forgetting about the paper. “The people behind the counter?”

“Yeah, the lady with the blue hair.” He played with the paper between his fingers, seeming to enjoy the sound it made when he crinkled it. “She was kind of annoying, kept calling me sweetie and stuff, but in the end she gave this to me, so I don’t hate her.”

“Did you have to pay for it?”

“No,” Tord scoffed, something he was far too good at for a seven year-old. “She just gave it to me, said it was from the other guy.”

Paul nearly dropped the box.

“The other guy,” he repeated. “Don’t- Don’t tell me you mean the man in the red sweater, with the longer hair?”

“I guess?” Tord said. “They were the only two back there.” He looked up at Paul, squinting as though studying his face. “You’re going to tell me I can’t have it, aren’t you, Paul?”

That was exactly what Paul had planned to do, but his own predictability made him pause for a second. He glanced down at the bag, top curled over to protect the cookie inside, and the fierce protectiveness of Tord’s grip on it. Paul found himself almost worried that it might crumble before they got home, and he felt his resolve go with it.

He sighed and shrugged, although it was awkward while he was still carrying the box. “Shame it had to be a cookie, I guess. You should have told them you don’t like sweets.”

Tord’s crinkling increased in volume. “I don’t,” he said. “They gave it to me, though.”

Paul glanced down at Tord, his gaze traveling from the paper bag to the tattered blue backpack on Tord’s shoulders. He had been serious when he said they should get a new one, but now that he could think about it with a clear head, he realized that it was going to take a miracle at work for him to afford the extra expense. He was glad, then, that Tord had said he didn’t need one, although he continued to think about how he could adjust their budget just enough to afford a new bag.

The party was grating, too many adults packed into a small apartment with minimal air conditioning. Paul wasn’t even sure why he had stayed as long as he had. The host had whisked off the cupcakes as soon as he had arrived, giving him a terse, “Thank you,” for his help before disappearing, along with any proof that Paul had done anything for the party at all. After that, he was left to wander around by himself, since he had never talked much to any of the other parents and therefore didn’t have anyone to latch onto until the whole thing was over. At first, he had promised himself that he would stay for the sake of making a good impression, but it soon became clear that no one was paying attention to him anyway, and he was starting to reconsider his stance as he walked down the hallway for the twentieth time.

These people had real paintings hanging up on their walls. Not prints, not posters, but real paintings on which Paul could still make out the lines left by the paintbrushes. He had never been passionate about art, but he could appreciate just how much time had gone into each piece, and therefore just how expensive the collection had to be. These people were not what Paul would consider rich, but they clearly had money, and Paul figured there were worse things to do with it than decorating one’s home with beautiful things. Funding an unstable army on the brink of collapse, for instance.

“Paul!” He jumped at the sound of his name, then looked around. He was quick to spot the man walking towards him from the crowd, holding a small paper plate bearing a few scattered grapes and crumbs of some baked good (cupcakes?). Paul’s stomach rumbled. He had been avoiding the kitchen for most of the evening, but now that he saw real food in front of him it was harder to ignore his hunger pangs.

“I was hoping I might bump into you,” he said, and Paul realized that this must be Bing, Tord’s teacher.

“Good to see you,” Paul said, letting his eyes rest on the plate since making eye contact with Bing tended to be an unnerving experience. “Enjoying the party?”

“Not at all, really,” Bing said, catching Paul off guard. He’d known about the man’s reputation for quirkiness, but it was still surprising to run into. Paul wouldn’t say he enjoyed the attitude, exactly, but it had an oddly refreshing quality that he could not outright deny. “Full of sheep, you see, nobody here has anything interesting to say, it’s all about budget cuts and sports teams. You can’t walk five feet in here without hearing another, ‘Ah, save the art department’. Sheep, I swear!”

Bing went on for several more minutes, completely oblivious to his audience as he did so. Paul himself did not mind that much, knowing that getting called a sheep a few times was worthwhile if it meant he could avoid smalltalk altogether. He just kept nodding his head at the appropriate times, and pretty soon he was certain that he had become best friends with Tord’s teacher.

Feeling slightly more comfortable now, Paul decided it was time for him to take a bigger risk.

“So, from what Tord’s told me, it sounds like you have a pretty great class,” Paul said. “He’s said that he likes the activities you do, and I can already tell he’s learned a lot in your science courses.” He gulped. “I guess, I’ve just heard that he’s been having some problems with the other students?”

“Oh yeah, Tordy, he’s been… hm…” Bing rubbed his chin, his gaze drifting so slowly over the party that Paul was almost convinced he had forgotten he was talking to someone. A moment later though, he snapped back to attention, stepping forward and forcing Paul to take a large step back. “Right, Tord! He’s a good kid, Paul, real good. You raised that kid right. Believe you me, if I wasn’t employed by the school district, I probably would have been cheering him on with the calculator thing today. Kids, we’re not teaching them how to stand up for themselves anymore, always fighting their battles for them. None of them are going to know what to do once they hit the real world, not like us, you know?”

“Are you saying that Tord was in the right?” Paul asked, more for clarification than anything else.

Bing shrugged, his hair bouncing as he did so. “I’m not saying anything, Paul. See, I would love to tell you you’re kid’s all right, really I would, it breaks my heart to have to disappoint parents, but the school’s still got rules. Much as I appreciate the way you raised that kid, there’s still rules, we still have to follow the procedures, you get me?” He barreled on, giving Paul no chance to reply. “Course you do, Tord was saying you’re an army man, right? You get me.”

Paul was struggling to keep up at this point, or even understand the point Bing was trying to make. “So, would you say he has, uh, behavior problems in the classroom?”

“No, never!” Bing said, now offended on Tord’s behalf. “He’s just got, you know, he doesn’t know how to hold himself in a classroom. He’s not built for the rigid structure of public schools, you know? He wasn’t built for this. I think, if you really want to help your kid, you should look into one of those fancy schools that’s all about teaching independence and critical thinking. That’s where the real thinkers of tomorrow are going, not some underfunded train wreck in the middle of the city.”

Paul tried his best to swallow it down, but already he could feel the anger starting to rise in his gut. “You don’t mean private school, do you, Bing?”

“Of course I do! They’re not controlled by the state, see? They don’t have to suck up to big government, and that’s how you’ve got to raise a kid. Never have anybody looking down on you, so that the kid knows to always be looking up.”

Paul’s insides were twisting up, all the frustration and anxiety coming together in one uncomfortable ball in his stomach. He knew that this was the moment when he needed to leave, take a break from the people and regroup, but every time he shifted away Bing would follow, intent on keeping them as close as possible.

“Listen we, I can’t afford it,” Paul said, glancing around helplessly. His heart was starting to race, and he could feel his face heating up. He willed himself to calm down, not having the time or energy to go through two panic attacks in one day, but whether it actually worked was completely up to chance. “He, he needs help in the classroom. He just doesn’t get how he’s supposed to behave.”

But Bing crossed his arms and shook his head. “Tord does what he wants, Paul,” he said. “I’m trying to tell you that I appreciate that quality in a person, but it doesn’t work in school. If you can’t get that boy somewhere he can work with, well, he’s going to be expelled eventually, no buts about it.”

Paul remembered yelling, although he could not say for sure what he said or who it was directed at, just waves of anger rolling out of him all at once. He figured that he said a little bit about there was no way in hell he could afford private schooling, but he could also imagine that he’d said something about how this was the school’s failure and Bing’s laziness, and Tord wouldn’t have been in this situation if his teachers had just learned to do their damn jobs right. This, of course, was the wrong thing to yell at the bi-annual Teacher Appreciation Dinner, but he was already kicking himself out when Hillary finally arrived to find out what was going on. Paul pushed his way through the guests, ignoring the stares he got along the way and the tight feeling in his chest. He was focused entirely on his escape.

His attention only wavered once, when he walked by the kitchen and, glancing in, noticed the cupcake box sitting on the counter. The lid was open, and already it was half empty. Paul could just see the tips of a few blue-frosted cakes, but it brought his mind back to Tord’s note, the one had carried out with him from the bakery. He’d slipped it into his pocket before Paul could ask what it was, but now he was curious. The paper had been the same color as the cupcakes.

He took another step and they fled from view, and with them any thoughts of that bakery or his generally dreadful day. Hillary was still yelling at him from somewhere back inside the house, but for all intents and purposes he had gone deaf, all of his senses focused on what it would take to get him out the door as quickly as possible. Despite his ignorance, though, the party did continue on normally, as it would continue to do for several hours after he pushed out the front door and slammed it behind him.

The clouds that had been frosted over the sky on his way to the bakery that afternoon had now started to crack open, filling the air with tiny raindrops that seemed to seek out the spaces underneath Paul’s clothes. Walking by glow of the orange streetlights, he just prayed that it would stay at a drizzle and not progress into a full-on downpour, remembering the bundle of paper and ink he still had after stuffing it into his pocket that morning.

Paul knew that having an idle mind was a dangerous thing, so as he walked through the ragged winds, he started to focus in his mind on what his list would be for the next day. At the same time, he pulled out his list for that day and tossed it onto the sidewalk, letting the rain take it away.


	2. Riddles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: subtle homophobia

The Red Army base was built with the intention that no one could ever find the massive concrete structure. Hidden among tall pine trees and rocky cliffs, it was impossible to spot the fortress until one was just a few meters away. The winding roads leading up to it made the task no easier, twisting and turning and overlapping each other, sometimes paved and other times dissolving into nearly invisible gravel paths. In its several decades of operation, no lost Norwegians had ever bumped into it, and only a handful of enemy soldiers had had the misfortune of actually finding the hive.

Patryk was glad to know that his new employer could keep a low profile. He only regretted not asking more questions before the security measures made him an hour late.

The organization had been cryptic from the beginning, but the little map and set of riddles they had given him seemed to take the cake. He had spent the entire train ride trying to work out what they could mean, his hopes that it would become clear once he reached the woods dashed as soon as he stepped into the labyrinth of foliage. The fact that no one had come to search for him yet was leading Patryk to fear that this whole thing was an elaborate joke, and that he had been foolish to think that some secret communist army existed anywhere out in the Norwegian wilderness.

Frustrated, tired, and starting to regret not bringing more water, Patryk pushed the map into his pocket and sat down on a fallen log lying across the road. His backpack weighed heavy on his spine, but the thought of taking it off and then pulling it back on was too exhausting to consider. He knew that he had been this way before, more than once, in fact, but where that put him on the map was anyone’s guess. He had yet to recognize any of the landmarks described in the riddles, and after hours of wandering through the woods he doubted that he could find his way back out again.

“I’m an idiot,” he sighed, burying his face into his hands and favoring the empty blackness he found there. An idiot for failing and an idiot for trying. The walk alone had proved to be more work than he had ever done before in his life, and much as he needed to keep going, his feet ached, begging him to just stay still until he became a tree himself. He had no idea how he had expected to survive in an actual army, or why he had believed that said secret, super-powerful army would actually take an interest in a nobody like him.

“I deserve this,” he said, still with his face in his hands.

“Really, you think this is how Red Army recruits are supposed to deal with slight inconveniences?”

Patryk’s head shot up. Seemingly out of thin air, a man with a blond buzzcut had appeared from behind the trees. He was clad in a red sweater and blue jacket, open in the front to reveal a patch on the front of his sweater, obvious due to it being a darker shade of red. He was squinting, as if to convince himself that Patryk was not some trick of the light. Patryk could relate to the feeling.

“You, where did you, I…”

“Yeah, that’s enough,” the man said, now striding forward and putting an arm under Patryk’s elbow to help get him up. Patryk did not miss the slight grunt the man made as he did so, and he felt himself blush. “Come on, let’s get to the base. They’ll be glad to know that our new recruit isn’t dead, I guess. Disappointed that it had to go this way, but glad.”

“Haven’t even gotten there yet and I’m already disappointing people? Great start,” Patryk said, not meaning to express all of the sourness he was feeling but unable to stop a bit from slipping out. He had never particularly wanted to be a good soldier, but he had hoped that his first day would go a bit better than this at least.

“Eh, it could be worse,” the man said as he released Patryk’s arm and started to walk up one of the winding paths. “They were hoping you could figure out the map on your own, but it’s their own fault for making such a shitty system in the first place. You’re the first person they ever tried it on, too, so you’re pretty much a practice dummy as far as the map is concerned. Can’t blame a car crash dummy if it dies, know what I mean?”

Patryk was somewhat relieved to hear that his failure was not just his own fault, although he disliked being referred to as a practice dummy. “How did recruits find the base before me, if you don’t mind me asking, uh, sir?”

The man laughed, a single loud bark that seemed to bounce against all the trees in the forest. The world seemed quieter immediately after. “Don’t bother with the sir stuff,” he said. “For one thing, that’s not what our organization’s all about. For another, I’m no officer, just a soldier. I only signed on a few months ago.”

“Ah,” Patryk said, feeling himself blush again. “Then, uh, what should I call you?”

“I’m Maxim,” he said with a smirk in his voice. “Not Max, got that?”

“Yeah, sure, Maxim.” Patryk shifted his bag. Something inside had come loose and was poking him in the back, although he dared not ask to stop and fix it. “I’m Patryk, by the way. Patryk Du-”

Maxim whipped around, shooting Patryk a glare that wiped out all thoughts form his mind and made him freeze in his tracks.

“Don’t,” Maxim said, all good humor gone from his voice. Now, it was hard and stern, a voice that belonged to an officer, despite what he said about his actual rank. Patryk stood up a bit straighter, although he could not look the man in the eyes, preferring instead to stare again at the discolored patch on his sweater. He only relaxed when Maxim did so as well.

“Dunno if they didn’t tell you or you just forgot, but nobody in the organization ever uses their last name,” Maxim said, playing with one of the buttons on his coat. “It’s for a lot of reasons. When you join the Red Army, you’re giving up the life you left behind, which includes your family and any of their legacy. It’s also a security thing. You do well enough here, our enemies might start to take an interest in your family, and if I know your name, then they’ll try to get it out of me. You know what I mean, don’t you?”

Patryk nodded. “I understand,” he said, shaken but undeterred.

Maxim looked him over once, then nodded.

“Right,” he said. “Let’s keep going.”

They walked in silence after that, Patryk trying to pay attention to the path they were taking but finding himself distracted by the little details. They slope of the path had steepened, and the loose gravel made it difficult for him to find a foothold sometimes, having to balance himself before putting all of his weight onto one leg or the other. Maxim had no problem with the climb, but then Patryk suspected he had some experience with this route, given how confidently he led the way through the trees. Patryk, on the other hand, still had no idea where they were going and had trouble seeing any landmarks that could indicate which direction they were supposed to go in next. To him, all of the trees looked the same, tall and covered in needles and moss. They gave the forest floor a quiet shady cover, underneath which grew a variety of short shrubs and creeping ivies. Occasionally, Patryk would glimpse a tiny young flower, but they were rare and hard to spot. He spent most of the walk admiring the things he could see, like the trees, and the large rocks that seemed to sprout straight from the ground. He might have enjoyed it, had he not been laden with an oversized backpack.

They soon came to be walking on a narrow ledge, with a sheer rock wall on their right and a straight drop on their left. The muscles in Patryk’s legs clenched as they walked by, but he tried to ignore it for the sake of staying close to Maxim, who he knew would make no effort to slow down on Patryk’s behalf. He was surprised then when, just as the path started to even a bit and the slope became less punishing, Maxim stopped and turned back to him.

“Patryk,” Maxim said. “Once you’re in, you can’t leave. You understand that, right?”

Patryk shrugged, trying to find some way to catch his breath without Maxim noticing his discomfort. A scowl appeared on Maxim’s face, however, and PAtryk realized that he had chosen one of the most inappropriate answers to such a question.

“Yes,” he said, giving a firm nod. He caught Maxim’s eye and held it, ignoring the way the tree branches bounced in the background. All that mattered, in that moment, was this connection between soldiers. “I understand. I wouldn’t have anywhere else to go, though, honestly.”

Maxim looked like he had meant to say something more, but instead shook his head and turned his back on PAtryk once more. Patryk was curious about what he had been about to say, but lacked the energy or the will to bother asking the question, so instead he focused on putting one foot in front of the other, continuing his climb up the slope. A moment later, quite unexpectedly, he found himself in full view of the Red Army base.

The walls were made of cement, and the windows were dark and barred over, but something about the sight seemed underwhelming to Patryk. He had expected something high-tech, maybe, with guards patrolling the perimeter and big angry dogs waiting to snap at the ankles of anyone who came too close. Instead, their security seemed to be comprised of a chain-link fence and a guard’s booth parked in front of the one gate. An empty guard’s station, at that.

“Christ, of course they forgot,” Maxim sighed, stepping away from Patryk and into the guard’s station. “They keep calling the boss’ son away on missions while he’s supposed to be on guard duty, and then the guy never think to get a replacement before he takes off. I swear, some day our enemies are going to show up right at our front door and we won’t have any idea because he decided to take a sandwich break.”

“Sounds like a real pain,” Patryk said, unsure if he was expected to respond or not.

“Got that right,” Maxim said. He was inside the station, now, but he voice was still clear to Patryk’s ears. “Honestly, Patryk, you seem like a nice guy, so I’m going to give you some advice: don’t get mixed up with that guy. He’s got some stuff going on with him that you really don’t want on your record.”

Patryk was going to ask for more details, but then the gate started to open and Maxim rushed him through, charging in and just making it before it started to close again. While he waited for Maxim to catch up, he took a moment to appreciate the sight of the structure in front of him.

The concrete walls stood tall above him, monstrous blocks that blocked out the sun in the narrow walkways between buildings. All of the windows were frosted and barred over, and the few doors were made of heavy metal and covered in dents, scars of struggles from long before. He felt as though the building itself was trying to intimidate him, as if facing it now was his final test for joining the Red Army.

A small noise from behind alerted him that Maxim had just gotten over the gate.

“I know it’s hideous,” he said, walking up to stand beside Patryk and look up. “But you get used to it. Home is home, after all.”

“Right,” Patryk said, letting the words sink in. Home. The base, with its thick concrete walls and oppressive wild surroundings did not feel like home yet, but he supposed that they would have to if he was committed to spending the rest of his life here.

Maxim walked up to the front doors, pulling out a keycard on the way. He stopped just before swiping it, though, glancing back at Patryk, expression unreadable.

“I’m serious about the boss’ son, Patryk,” he said, glancing around once, although there was no one around to hear. Still, he leaned forward, dropping into a hushed tone. “There have been rumors about him, his uh, preferences. You seem like a nice guy, and I could see him taking advantage of that. Taking advantage of you.” He stepped back, returning to his normal relaxed disposition. “So just stick with the right crowd and you’ll be fine!”

Maxim’s grave tone of voice made something inside Patryk quiver, and he could not bring himself to ask for clarification before Maxim swiped the keycard and the lock clicked open. They walked through, Patryk surprised by the weight of the door when he held it open for himself. Like the door of a tomb, it slammed closed behind them, and then Patryk found himself inside the base of the Red Army.

The fluorescent lights revealed a long hallway, branching at several places and ending far in front of them at another set of double doors. Unlike the exterior of the building, this space was much more populated, soldiers walking in and out of the many joined hallways. Some were in full uniform, but others wore more casual clothes, although Patryk was certain he could see at least one weapon on each person. As they started walking up the hallway, soldiers started to look up and take notice of Patryk, and he could feel the way their eyes drilled into him, sizing him up as they walked by. No one said anything, though, probably because he had Maxim with him, and they were able to get through the main hallway and start walking up one of the side halls without any incidents. Patryk was pretty sure that the soldiers continued to watch him as they walked away, but he did not dare to turn around and check.

“We’ll be coming to the boss’ office shortly,” Maxim said. The hallway was wide enough for them to walk side by side, but he kept a few strides ahead of Patryk, who thought it would be unprofessional to run and catch up, and otherwise lacked the energy to do so. “When we get there, you’ll sign the last of your paperwork, and then receive your new identification. By that point, we should be able to get one of the other recruits to show you to the barracks, so I can get back to my own job.”

“Right,” Patryk said. “Thank you, Maxim.”

“Don’t thank me,” he said.

They only made it a few more meters before a small, scrappy soldier jumped out of an office off the side of the hallway. Patryk flinched but the soldier paid no attention to him, focused on Maxim. They shared a few quick, hushed words before the soldier dashed back into the office as abruptly as he had arrived. Patryk shot a questioning glance at Maxim, who shrugged.

“Change of plans,” he said, turning to Patryk. “Patrol’s coming back now, and command wants me to greet them when they arrive.” He looked over Patryk once more, and although it was not the same piercing gaze as the other soldiers, it still made Patryk uncomfortable to be surveyed that way. “You need to get some rest. We don’t have time now for me to get one of the other recruits, but I do know one person who can show you to the barracks and help you settle in.”

“Oh?” Patryk was not sure how else to respond. Given how the other soldiers had stared at him the whole way through, he was nervous to get paired up with any one of them, especially given how Maxim had been relatively respectful to him thus far.

“Silje, our head cook,” Maxim said. “She knows this base better than anyone, even the boss, maybe. She can get you were you need to be.”

The word babysitter flashed through Patryk’s mind, and it struck him that he was just being passed between hands down the ranks. He just prayed that this Silje woman was not a cheek pincher.

“Okay,” Patryk said. “Where is she?”

“Right now, the kitchen,” Maxim said. “She should be finished making dinner soon, I bet she can take some time to show you around.”

“Isn’t she busy?” Patryk asked. “I mean, the head cook must have a lot of responsibilities, right?”

“Eh, it’ll be fine,” Maxim said, already taking the lead again. “She’s got her staff to watch over the kitchen while she helps you, and it should only take a few minutes. Besides, she likes guys like you.”

Patryk did not have time to ask what that meant, as Maxim was already rushing back through the base, taking them through long hallways and down flights of stairs. Along the way, Patryk was able to catch glimpses of any rooms that had open doors. The upper floor was dominated by offices, but as they went further down he started to see rooms heavy with machinery, supply rooms stocked to the brim with tools to kill a person. They passed by several rooms where soldiers were lifting weights, and others where groups were going over plans or instructions. The base, Patryk was realizing, was a constant stream of activity, and it was a wonder that the whole thing could work so efficiently.

Patryk knew they were getting close to the kitchen when they passed by a quiet mess hall. There were loud noises, banging and yelling, coming from the next door down, and Patryk instinctively shrunk away from it even as Maxim went up to knock.

“Are they alright in there?” Patryk asked. Someone inside was definitely shouting above all the rest, and they sounded angry.

“Oh, they’re fine,” Maxim assured him, waving a hand to brush away Patryk’s discomfort. “This is normal for them, we just came during their busiest time of day.”

“They’re like this every night?” Patryk asked.

“I guess,” Maxim said, unperturbed by the violence happening in the kitchen. He smirked. “I heard a rumor that years ago, they used to make a special New Year’s dinner for all the soldiers. The boss canceled it, though, after one of the cooks tried to kill another. Unsanitary to have blood in the kitchen, you know?” With that, he tapped his knuckles against the door.

The clamor paused for a moment, and Patryk could hear a few hushed voices before the door swung open, revealing a mountain.

That was the only way Patryk could think to describe the woman in front of him. He had to look up to meet her piercing brown eyes, which did not seem focused at all on his body and instead penetrated deep into him, digging into his soul. Everything about her seemed like a wild animal trying to break free, from her wide chest and muscular arms trapped in a chef’s coat to her light brown hair curly hair, barely held in place with a hairnet. A large red mark decorated her entire right cheek, likely a birthmark although Patryk would not have been surprised to learn it was a battle wound. He could see several actual scars on her hands, right before she crossed her arms in front of her and stared them both down.

This woman was powerful. She could probably kill Patryk just by breathing on him. And he had a feeling he knew who she was.

“Silje,” Maxim greeted, completely calm around the mammoth. “I was about to show the new recruit to the barracks, but some other urgent business has come up and it seems I can’t anymore. I need you to take him.”

Silje finally looked away from Patryk, and he found it somewhat easier to breathe.

“What business?” she demanded, and Patryk felt himself recoil at the sound of her voice. She already sounded pissed off, and he hadn’t even said anything yet.

“The boss’ kid,” Maxim said. “He and his patrol are on their way back, and I need to be there to take stock. I would take Patryk, but you know how the others get when a patrol’s just arrived. Better to just get him to his bunk for the night, you know?”

Silje had hummed in response to Maxim’s comment on the soldiers, but her fierce expression remained, shifting only when her gaze switched between Patryk and Maxim.

“I’m busy,” she said. Patryk felt compelled to agree with her, and also ask Maxim what he had been thinking, leaving him with a person like this.

“I’m aware,” Maxim said, either oblivious to Patryk’s discomfort or outright ignoring it. “So was I, until the boss put me in charge of greeting the new recruit.” He glanced inside the kitchen, then back to Silje. “You can hold onto him for a few minutes, can’t you? You can even get some work out of him, if you’d like.”

Something crashed to the floor in the kitchen. Patryk jumped, but the other two stayed still, Silje glancing over her shoulder once before returning her attention to the men at her door.

“You know anything about cooking?” she asked, locking her gaze on Patryk.

“Yes, ma'am,” he squeaked out, uncertain what “anything” meant but terrified of displeasing her.

Silje stared a moment longer before she shrugged.

“He can’t be any more incompetent than the idiots I’ve already got in my kitchen,” she said. “I’ll show you to your bunk when I’m done. Just don’t get in anyone’s way. And wash your hands before you touch anything.”

“Yes, ma'am,” Patryk replied. He ducked into the kitchen as soon as she stepped aside, missing the hushed words shared between the other two. As soon as he was in, he paused a moment to absorb the sight of the kitchen, although he didn’t have long to look.

Unlike what he had seen so far of the rest of the base, the kitchen had tiled floors, worn with age but still pretty in the light. The space was filled with all kinds of cooking tools and stations, and squeezed in between were the cooks, either rushing across the room or whipping things together in bursts of speed and rage.The tension in the room made the hair on the back of Patryk’s neck prickle, and he made his way to the back to drop off his bag, trying to stay out of the way of the kitchen staff as he did so. He was mostly successful, but did bump into a couple of people on his way, for which he sincerely apologized. For the most part, they did not respond, although one waved him away like he was an annoying fly.

After throwing his backpack onto the floor and washing his hands, he returned to Silje. She immediately pressed a load of carrots into his arms and pointed at the kitchen counter.

“Peeled and chopped,” she said, then walked away. Patryk had no choice but to do exactly that. It wasn’t hard to find a knife in the crowded kitchen, so he set to work, shaving each carrot down and placing them to the side when they were bright orange. He took his time with each one, inspecting to make sure he got all of the ugly outer layer, leaving nothing but the bright orange insides.

He was still working on the first bunch when he felt a large presence come up behind him.

“Faster,” Silje said, before roughly grabbing the knife and carrot out of Patryk’s hands and peeling it with the ferocity of a lion. Patryk was terrified that she was going to cut herself, but she came away unscathed. The same was true for the next carrot she took up, and then again with the one after that. When she had finished peeling all three carrots in under a minute, she shoved the knife back into Patryk’s hand.

“You see?” she said. “Now you.”

Patryk glanced between the knife and the woman. Then, realizing she was waiting for him, he grabbed the first carrot off the pile and sheared off the top layer, slowing down just enough to keep his fingers intact. The final product was not as satisfying as his other work, but it seemed to be good enough for Silje, so he grabbed another one and got started.

Silje stayed and watched a moment longer before she said, “Yes, good,” and left. Patryk still had a whole pile of carrots left to go through.

He spent the next hour that way, doing whatever small task Silje needed and just trying his best not to get noticed. There was always something for him to fix or some way for him to go faster, and every time Silje pointed it out she would stare at him until he was performing acceptably. Then she would return to her own jobs until either Patryk completed his current task or she found something else to correct. The process was beyond repetitive: Patryk completely lost track of time while he was working, so that by the time Silje put a hand on his shoulder to stop him he had no idea whether he had been in the kitchen for five minutes or several hours.

“The staff can take care of the rest. Let’s show you to the barracks.”

The thought of finally getting a chance to rest nearly made Patryk drop his knife. He put his tools away and grabbed his pack off the floor before following Silje out of the kitchen and back into the hallway. Walking beside her, Patryk felt even smaller than he had on the way in, but something about her presence made him feel a bit more secure in the strange environment. They did not pass many soldiers on their way, but those they did see made no attempt to stare Patryk down like the ones earlier had. It was comforting, somewhat, to have the tall woman beside him.

“The soldiers really respect you, don’t they?” Patryk said, remembering with some sheepishness his older assumptions about a cheek-pinching old lady.

“No, not really,” Silje said, surprising him. She seemed to sense this, as she went on, “The lower status soldiers are afraid of me, and the higher ones recognize that I have some power in the organization. They don’t respect me though.” She glanced at him, a humorous glint in her eyes. “Do you think this is how Maxim treats a person he respects? By dropping a helpless recruit in their lap right in the middle of their work, asking them to drop everything and show the kid where he’s sleeping tonight?” She pulled off he hair net and shook her curls free, letting them bounce into place on their own. Her hair was shorter than Patryk had expected, barely reaching past her ears. “It’s not how he would treat an officer, and it’s certainly not how he would treat a man. He has no respect for me or my work.”

Patryk had meant well by his comment, so the immediate rebuttal had him crawling back into his shell and begging for an escape. His insides twisted, and he had no idea whether to apologize or stay silent and avoid the kitchen for the literal rest of his life.

“I didn’t… I’m sorry, I didn’t think about it like that,” he said. “I’m sorry for getting in your way.”

Silje shrugged. “You’re not the worst person I’ve ever had in there,” she said. “I wouldn’t bet on a career in food if I were you, but we survived the evening.”

“Yeah,” Patryk chuckled. “Yeah, I gu—”

They were stopped by a sudden wave of people coming up the hallway, pushing them to the side in the rush of bodies. Most of them were soldiers fulling in uniform, although several people were wearing their casual clothes had gotten swept up in the rush, and was talking animatedly to the exhausted soldiers. It was impossible to tell who was leading the mob, but they acted as a single unit, plowing through the hallway with the same finesse Patryk had seen in nature documentaries about schools of fish.

He glanced at Silje, desperate for an explanation, but her gaze was stuck in the crowd, searching for something that Patryk could not possible guess. He looked back out again, which is when he saw Maxim.

This must have been the patrol he’d been talking about earlier. From his tone, Patryk had assumed that it was important, but he had never expected it to be this big. The hallway was stuffed, and there seemed to be no end to the stream as they continued to fill the cramped space.

In fact, the only place there seemed to be any space left was a small ring around Maxim, a space with a foot radius in which none of the other soldiers dared step. The only person directly beside him was a man, shorter than Patryk, with messy brown hair and thick eyebrows. He walked with a straight back and eyes pointed ahead, although he did seem to be listening to whatever Maxim was saying. He was smoking a cigarette, the only person in the crowd to do so.

“Is that the boss?” Patryk asked, looking up at Silje.

“His son,” she replied. She glanced down at Patryk, then back to the crowd once more. Her eyes were narrowed, gaze steady as she watched the man walk down the hall, all strength and purpose.

Patryk glanced back out, watched how the other men carefully gave him the space to walk and not have to worry about tripping or bumping into anyone.

“He must be pretty respected,” he said, wondering if the boss’ son would automatically be chosen for high ranking positions and the like. There was a sense of power around him, something that Patryk felt immediately drawn to. The way he carried himself, maybe, or the intensity of his dark brown eyes. Out of nowhere, the man glanced to the side and locked his gaze with Patryk’s. The two men stared at each other, Patryk did not know for how long, before the man looked in front again, not looking back a second time. Patryk felt a strange chill run up his spine, and he realized that he had been holding his breath.

“They respect Paul as much as they do me,” Silje said, making Patryk jump. He had somehow forgotten about the woman standing next to him. He turned back to her and nearly jumped once more.

The look on her face was unlike any he had seen so far that night. She seemed concerned, maybe for him, although it almost seemed to be a feeling that leaked straight from her core.

“You have to be careful with these men, Patryk,” she said, voice low so that only he could hear. She shifted down, so that she and Patryk could better look into each other’s eyes. “Most of them are here out of necessity. They needed a job if they wanted to eat, and this was the only one they could find. They are disrespectful, but overall harmless. There are others, though,” she said as her gaze traveled over the throng, “that are here for power. And they will do anything to anyone to get it.”

The boss’ son, Paul was his name, was almost out of sight down the hallway, the back of his head disappearing behind those of the other soldiers. The crowd seemed to be clearing away, although the hall was still quite packed.

“I’m worried about him, Patryk.”

Patryk did not understand. The son of a powerful man, clearly powerful himself, should not have needed the head of the kitchen to be worried for him. Silje’s voice rang true, though, and Patryk realized that there was something in this army to fear more than the guns on the soldiers’ backs.

In his mind, Patryk swore that he would start training early in the morning.


	3. Wrinkles

Paul had found the note the day after he went to the laundromat, a baby blue ball still hidden inside Tord’s pants pocket. He had stared at it for some time, trying to figure out what it could be, and very nearly threw it out when he started to think it might be some scrap from Tord’s schoolwork. Some instinct had stopped him, though, and he asked Tord about it before he went through with the action. Which is how he found out he was holding the remains of the note from the baker, written for Tord to give to Paul. Tord apologized for forgetting about it, but Paul barely heard, his mind already spiraling as he tried to figure out what the crumpled blue paper might have once read.

His first instinct was to unfold the ball, but this proved easier said than done, and his frustrated efforts only seemed to make the damage worse, the paper tearing as he tried to unravel it from itself. Whatever the message had once said, it was destroyed now, and nothing could bring the broken ink back together.

Still, it puzzled him, and he carried it in his back pocket throughout the day, as though the solution might come to him on his way to pick up Tord in the afternoon. Beyond wanting to know the contents of the message, he was curious why it had been written in the first place. If it was written with malicious intent, then Paul should have been taking steps to get Tord as far away from that place as possible.

Anything other than that, though… He had no idea how to respond. He had prepared for years in case they were attacked in their home, but he had never thought about what might happen if someone friendly came to their home. This uncertainty, on top of not knowing anything about the note itself, left him in a constant feeling of frustration, and he still felt it as the school doors buzzed and he pushed inside.

The hallways were crowded today, swarmed with children and a handful of adults trying to herd them around. Paul edged around the chaos and made his way up the hall. He had half-hoped that Tord would be in the gym when he arrived, but he felt no disappointment when they bumped into each other in the classroom door.

“Paul!” Tord cried. He was holding his backpack in one hand, letting the straps drag on the floor behind him. In the mess of the hallway, it seemed like a perfect way to make someone trip. “What are you doing here?” His expression turned grim. “Did you get fired again?”

“What? No,” Paul said, somewhat hurt that that was the first thing Tord’s mind had gone to. He had had problems with employment in the past, sure, but his job as a taxi driver had been pretty secure for the past few months. There was the occasional annoying rider, sure, but for the most part he could forget about them once he closed the window.

“No,” he said. “I just needed to talk to your teacher. Is he, uh, in there now?”

“Oh,” Tord said, suddenly turning sheepish. “I, um, uh…” He shuffled his feet and looked down, absentmindedly pulling his backpack on and fiddling with the straps. Paul, knowing that they both had work to do that evening, started to grow impatient.

“Is he there or not?” he snapped, startling Tord.

“Uh, if you looked in the room, I guess you might find him,” Tord said. “But I don’t know. He always leaves early, sometimes.”

“Tord,” Paul said. “You were just in there. Was he… You know what, forget this, you’re not going to be helpful.” He stepped around Tord, strode into the room, and immediately crashed into Bing on his way out.

A large stack of papers tumbled out of the teacher’s arms, falling to the ground and scattering under the nearby desks.

“Shit,” Paul said, leaning down to help clean them up. “I’m so sorry, let me-”

“No, Paul,” Bing said, putting up a firm hand to stop him. “You can go.” It was a voice Paul remembered from his own years as a student, the finality of a teacher who had finally had enough and was no longer interested in putting up with him. It stung him, and Paul knew that sticking around would only make his mood worse. Much as he wanted to have words with Bing, he knew that he could only do more damage at this point.

So he left. Turned and walked out of the room. He knew that Tord would follow, so he did not bother to look back as he walked back up the hallway, through the sea of children, and out the front door. He only glanced back once to make sure Tord got outside before he continued on home.

Although he was trying his best to hold together, on the inside he was steaming. How  _dare_  Bing speak to him that way, refuse to meet with him  _and_  kick him out of the classroom. Paul was trying to do what was best for Tord, that was all. It felt like that was all he ever did, all he would spend the rest of his life trying to do. It clearly didn’t matter if he tried, though, because there would always be something getting in his way, stopping him before he could make any actual improvements to his son’s life. He could never just be good enough.

“Hey, Paul,” Tord said as he caught up. “Can we go to the bakery today?”

It was not the first time Tord had asked that question. It was not the second. In fact, Tord had asked it every single day in the three weeks since Paul had picked up the cupcakes. By now, Paul had given up explaining why not every time and had taken to ignoring Tord’s demands for an explanation. Money was always the main reason, but he hesitated to admit that to Tord, even knowing how mature the boy was. There were some problems he didn’t feel ready yet to confide in with Tord.

There was also the issue that even thinking about that day made Paul’s knees go weak and his heart start to pound. He had no idea what would happen if he actually walked into the store again, but he had no interest in finding out. So he had refused over, and over. And over.

“No, Tord,” he said, noticing the edge in his voice and not bothering to hide it.

Tord was oblivious to it. “Why not?” he pressed, walking close to Paul and staring up at him. “I want to go. We haven’t been in forever and I want to. Can we go?”

“ _No_ , Tord,” Paul repeated, anger flaring up hot in his stomach. “How many times do I have to say it, we’re not going back. So stop asking.”

“But I  _want_  to!” Tord said, now catching onto the tension. “It’s just this one thing, why can’t we go?”

“Because I said no. Now  _drop it_.”

Tord stopped walking, and Paul almost kept going before he stopped and turned to face his son.

“I want to go to the bakery,” Tord said.

“We can’t,” Paul growled. “I’ve  _told_  you that. Now get moving, you have homework and I have my own work to take care of.”

“That’s all you ever do,” Tord said. His face was turning bright red, his eyes glistening. “You’re always working, and we never get to do anything fun! It’s not fair!”

“How do you think I feel?” Paul demanded, advancing on Tord. “I work every minute of my goddamn life. I never get a break, I don’t get to go to class and  _draw_  for an hour.” His voice turned childish, mocking. “I would love to go have  _fun_  at the bakery, but I’m too busy trying to earn enough money to buy you dinner tonight and clean up the messes you leave all over the apartment. So maybe,  _just once_ , you could say thank you instead of demanding even more!”

Tears ran down Tord’s cheeks, and his nose ran.

“I hate you, Paul!” he screamed. “You only ever think about how you feel, you never think about me!”

Paul saw red. His pulse quickened, his chest tightened, and for a moment he forgot to breathe. All of his thoughts were whited out, replaced with pure, loud  _anger_  that surged through his body like a tidal wave. He could feel it in every molecule of his body, hot rage that made him want to explode outwards in every direction at once.

He wanted to yell, he wanted to slam things, he wanted to  _hit_ , he wanted to  _hurt_ -

Paul stopped. He blinked.

He was standing over Tord. The boy was crying, but still standing straight, staring up at Paul.

Paul’s hand was raised.

He looked around. They were alone, no one was around and he had nearly slapped his child.

He’d nearly hit Tord.

Paul backed off, dropping his hand while raising the other in a placating gesture. He tried to even out his breathing, but it was hard to do with his heart still hammering and his head still swimming. Slowly, he lowered himself down onto the curb, sitting with his elbows on his knees and eyes straight ahead. He did not ask Tord to join him there, taking his time to come back to himself.

He was feeling too much to focus on everything at once, so he settled for the most easily identifiable: guilt. Of course there was guilt over what he had nearly done, but also that the whole situation had happened in the first place. He knew that, hard as he worked, there were many ways he had failed his son, and this refusal to do something fun just for once was another addition to the pile. It was heavy, and he could feel it sitting directly on his chest.

He heard Tord sit down next to him and looked up. Tord had crossed his legs and was resting his hands on them, staring into the distance with a stiff expression that Paul assumed mirrored his own. He had stopped crying, but his eyes were still red, and every once in a while he sniffled. Paul wished he had a tissue to offer. He sighed.

“I’m sorry, Tord,” he said. “I’m so sorry.” His voice croaked, and he had to take a moment clear his throat. Tord glanced up, expression blank. “I’ll take you to the bakery, if you still want to go.”

Tord shrugged, then stood up off the curb. Paul followed, brushing off his pants while Tord adjusted his ragged backpack on his shoulders. Paul wanted to help somehow, but he couldn’t think of a way to do so before Tord stilled and looked up at him for direction.

Paul took the lead, walking up the semi-familiar route towards the bakery. He had some trouble remembering which way to go, guessing at several points and asking Tord for help at another handful, but eventually they found the side street, cozily tucked away from the mid-day sun. Paul noticed how much quieter this street was as they turned into it, hidden from traffic and the general noise of city life. It was peaceful here, and Paul could almost find it enjoyable, had it not been for the curling dread around his stomach. He stopped walking just before they were in view of the windows, taking a moment to check that his breathing was steady and his heartbeat still regular.

“You don’t have to go in.”

Paul turned down to look at his son. Tord was watching him, hands gripping his backpack as he repeated, “You don’t have to, if you don’t want.” His face was grim and entirely serious, and Paul wondered if he had been planning this the whole way over, or possibly even before he had asked for the first time.

Ashamed as he was to admit it, Paul wanted to take the offer and sit here outside, where there was a slight breeze and very few people. He knew that Tord would be able to manage himself just fine, having gone alone into stores on several occasions when Paul had been unable to. Any other time, he would have gladly handed over his wallet and told Tord to have at it, but now, so soon after their fight, things were different.

“No, Tord,” he said, stepping in front of the window. “I’ll be fine.”

The interior of the bakery was just as Paul remembered it, although emptier. In fact, the only people present in the room right then were Paul, Tord, and the woman behind the cash register. Her blue hair seemed familiar to Paul, and it struck him that she must have been the same cashier who had been there the last time. Paul took slow steps into the immaculate space, but Tord rushed forward, making a bee line for the glass case near the register that housed all of the ready-made items. He pressed his hands against it and stared inside while Paul approached from behind, trying to apologize without words for the inevitable finger prints.

The cashier just smiled at him.

“Welcome to  _Rompre le Pain_ ,” she said. “Can I get you anything now, or do you need a minute?”

“Yeah, just a minute,” Paul said, turning down to Tord. “Anything look good?”

Tord’s eyes were flicking all around the case, moving from the immaculately decorated cakes to the delicate breakfast pastries and simple sandwiches. Paul noticed, though, that his gaze kept returning to the cookies on the top shelf of the case, several rows of various types that even looked nice to Paul. Some of them had s white glaze drizzles on top, or a marbled frosting pattern, and there was no denying that they were art, made with a great deal of love and commitment.

Paul was still admiring the edible art pieces when Tord at last stepped away from the case and said, “No, I’m okay. We can go now.”

Paul, having started to enjoy the sight of the cookies himself, now glanced down at Tord in confusion.

“Wait, you don’t want anything anymore?” he asked, caught off-guard by Tord’s sudden change in mood. The boy was retreating back into himself, putting one hand in his hoodie pocket while the other came up to grip the strap of his backpack. “What… Why did we walk all the way over here, then?”

Tord glanced up again, looking like he was ready to start another fight, but then his expression softened and a gentle grin appeared on his face. It took Paul a moment to realize that he was gazing somewhere behind Paul’s shoulder.

“Hi Patryk!”

Paul’s heart clenched. His feet froze to the floor. He wanted to turn around, but he couldn’t, stuck staring down at Tord while he heard footsteps behind him growing louder. They were too big to belong to the woman, sounding more like a bear than the blue-haired person standing behind the counter.

Actually, compared to the most likely scenario, Paul might not have minded a bear so much.

“Oh, Tord, it’s been a while. Good to see you again!”

That was what finally prompted Paul to move, because despite all of his anxiety, he had to see the face of the man who knew his son’s name. So, now without thought or hesitation, he turned around and met his eyes.

It was Patryk. That fact should not have been surprising at all to Paul, but it still was, the surreal experience of seeing this man again crashing into Paul like a wave. This was Patryk, beyond a shadow of a doubt, the man he had worked alongside all those seven years before, and Paul was certain of it despite any small changes that might have leaned to the contrary. Like Paul, Patryk seemed to have left behind his perfect army physique, no longer boasting boasting the same toned muscles and wide chest. At the same time, he had kept himself in better shape than Paul had managed, and he seemed to glow with a healthy aura that just managed to tick Paul off a little bit, although not in any outright offensive way. His hair was also longer than Paul remembered, now coming down to his shoulders and curling slightly at the tips. His bangs, though, had remained the same, perhaps a signature piece to his appearance that Paul, although he did not fully understand it, could manage to appreciate.

There was something else about him, though, something important that Paul couldn’t quite put his finger on. In all of the months they had worked together, Patryk had never seemed as happy as he did right now, standing in this cramped little bakery on a side street in London. It might have been that his posture was a bit more relaxed, or he had a sparkle in his eyes when he smiled, but the nervous demeanor Paul had always known him for was gone, replaced with something much more welcoming and familiar.

Of course, he also wasn’t wearing their old army colors anymore, either. Today, he had come in with a blue button-up shirt, with a little pocket on one side of his chest.

“Patryk,” he said at last, realizing how long they had gone without either one talking. His heart was pounding, but the rhythm was not flying away from him this time, staying steady inside his chest. He hadn’t said the name in years, but it rolled off of his tongue naturally, like his voice had been waiting for this moment to be put to use again.

“Paul.” A smile broke out across Patryk’s feature, his cheeks turning pink as he rubbed his eye with his knuckles. “It’s so good to see you again,” he said, dropping the hand and just looking at Paul, whose skin crawled when he realized that Patryk was giving him the same survey that Paul had performed seconds earlier. Most of the time, he was fairly decent at blending into the background, and he disliked the idea of someone actually taking notice of him.

“Wait, Patryk, is this that guy?” It was the cashier who spoke and broke the silence. Paul had completely forgotten that she was there. Tord, too, for that matter.

“Ah, yeah Laurel,” Patryk said, putting a hand on her shoulder and gesturing forward. “This is Paul. We used to work together, way back when. Paul, this is Laurel.”

“Uh, hi,” Paul said, offering a small wave. “Yeah, we worked together a while ago. It’s, uh, been a while, I guess?” He glanced down as though Tord would be able to help him out of this, but Tord was too busy staring up at Patryk, a reverent look in his eyes.

“I hear you, lots to catch up on, right?” Laurel asked, offering a small smile that seemed to betray a bit more than what she actually said. “Patryk, I know you’re about to go on break, but you can ring them up if you want to..”

“Oh yeah, sounds great,” Patryk said. “I’ll see you in a bit, then.”

“Great, see you,” Laurel said, stepping away from the register. Paul watched as she retreated back into the kitchen, somewhat wishing that she had stayed.

Patryk leaned forward, resting his elbows on the counter.

“I can’t believe you’re really here,” he whispered, so low that Paul was forced to look his way and lean forward just to hear. “I was scared I might never get to talk to you again.”

Paul felt his cheeks light up. The attention was not bad, per se, but it was unfamiliar, and there was still the lingering anxiety resting at the back of his mind. He was still wracking his brain for some way to respond when Tord spoke up again.

“Hey!” he cried, reaching up over the counter and waving to get Patryk’s attention. Patryk laughed, leaning further on his elbows so that they could see eye-to-eye.

“Don’t worry, Tord, I haven’t forgotten about you,” he said. “What would you like?”

“Um.” Tord turned back to the display case, narrowing his eyes at the assorted collection of sweets. Paul was still uncertain whether he was seriously considering them, or if it was all a big show.

“A cookie, maybe?” Patryk suggested, stepping behind the case. He pointed to each kind as he listed them out. “We’ve got chocolate chip, red velvet, sugar cookies… Oh, I just pulled out a tray of ginger snaps right before you arrived, want one of those?”

“Yeah!” Tord said, watching as Patryk grabbed a piece of tissue paper and then reached into the case, retrieving one of the larger cookies before stepping back to the counter.

“Here you go,” he said, passing it over. Tord took it with both hands, staring at it for a moment before rushing back to one of the tables near the windows. Paul watched as he tossed his backpack onto the floor and then settled onto one of the metal chairs, already having forgotten about the two other people in the room. Knowing that he was content, Paul turned back to Patryk, still standing behind the counter and watching Tord with some amusement.

“Ah, yeah, sorry, he’s um…” Paul stopped when he realized that he wasn’t sure what he was apologizing for, and instead just pulled out his wallet, wincing internally as he opened it up and looked down at the few crumpled bills.

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” Patryk said, already stepping away from the register and behind the display case again. He returned with a small paper bag, glancing down at Paul’s wallet, still open. “Really. It’s a gift.”

Paul’s gratitude threatened to spill out over the edges, but he managed to hold himself together, smiling at Patryk as he offered a small, “Thanks.” He slipped his wallet back into his pocket, relieved that it felt the same going in as it had coming out. “Sorry for holding you up on your break, too, we can get going if you’d like.”

“No, stay,” Patryk insisted, already stepping around the counter and walking towards the table Tord had claimed. “It’ll be nice to have the company. Plus, we have to catch up some, I want to know what you two have been doing all this time.”

Paul felt conflicted. On the one hand, he was anxious about sitting down and having a long conversation with anyone, and the fact that it was this person only made those feelings worse. On the other, though, he could not deny how happy the other two looked already, just by the three of them sharing this space together. Tord was watching them from the table, still holding the intact cookie and looking like a dragon flaunting its horde, while Patryk… he seemed to be more sunshine than man at this point, his happiness spilling out so that Paul almost found it contagious. Nervous as he was about sitting together, he found it impossible for himself to deny Patryk such a simple pleasure.

So, he followed Patryk to the table, sitting down in the chair to the right of Tord while Patryk took the one on the left.

Patryk started to pull out his lunch, and a beat of silence settled between the three as he did so, the quiet unfurling of paper the only sound in the bakery. Paul’s stomach growled as Patryk pulled out a sandwich, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten yet that day, so he looked away as Patryk carried it to his lips and took a bite.

He chewed thoughtfully for a moment before he glanced down at Tord, still holding his cookie and looking between the two adults. He swallowed and pointed at it.

“You can get started on that, Tord,” he said, “no need to wait for us.” He looked to Paul, then, the only one without any food, and quirked a brow. “You want anything, Paul?”

“Ah, no thanks, I’m fine,” Paul said, still watching Tord. The boy was surveying his cookie, almost as though he wasn’t sure how to eat it. He sniffed it once then, seeming to gather his courage, he took a large bite out of it, chewing slowly. Paul looked on, curious and perhaps a bit worried that Tord would spit it out across the table.

Instead, he swallowed, and immediately took a second bite.

“Would you look at that,” he said, watching Tord munch on the cookie. “Tord doesn’t normally like sugary things, this must be a first for him.”

Patryk laughed at that, and Paul glanced over to him, marveling at the way the other man practically glowed in response to Paul’s comment.

“Well, I have yet to meet a kid who doesn’t like our ginger snaps,” he said, leaning back into his chair. “They’re the boss’ recipe, but I always like to add just a little more cinnamon, gives it that perfect kick.” He sighed, expression relaxing as he watched Tord enjoy the cookie. “In fact, it’s weird to meet any kid who doesn’t like sugar at all. How old are you again, Tord?”

“I’m seven,” Tord replied between bites.

Patryk’s eyebrows went up a bit at that, which was nor surprise to Paul. Tord had always been small for his age, so most people just assumed he was in year one and never asked about his age.

“Wow, uh…” Patryk looked to Paul, who couldn’t offer any guidance in this scenario. Most people would have changed the subject by now, but Patryk was just sitting there, uncomfortable for the first time that day.

“Yeah, I know I’m short,” Tord said. He was looking down at his pants when he said it, but now he brought his gaze up to meet the two adults, a challenge in his eye. “I’m the shortest kid in my class. But I’m tough. I know how to beat up the bigger kids. I even once threw a guy onto the ground because he was annoying me.”

“You pushed him down,” Paul said. “And when I came to pick you up from the principal’s office, you cried about it.” He glanced to Patryk, suddenly realizing if this was a bad thing to be sharing with anyone else. It had been a while ago, but he still didn’t want anyone to think that Tord fought kids just for fun. “The kid was fine, a little scraped but not really hurt at all. And he was the one who started it, not Tord.”

“No way, I’m sure you roughed him up real well, didn’t you, Tord?” Patrk said with a wink, his energy returning and filling the room once more. Tord started to smile, and Paul felt a pleasant lightness enter his chest as the tension dissolved before his eyes. “You don’t let anyone mess with you, don’t you?”

“No way!” Tord said. He looked powerful all of a sudden, much more in control of himself than he had seemed earlier. Paul loved to see him like this, and had gotten very few opportunities.

“If I was one of your classmates, I would cower before you,” Patryk went on, swept up in the energy. “I would know to listen to you, or face the consequences.”

“Yeah!” Tord cried.

“After all, nobody opposes the grandson of the Red Army General!”

Paul startled, looking to Tord in panic. The boy had been on board for everything up to that point, but now he stopped, confusion settling on his features as Patryk’s words wormed into his head.

“The what?” Tord mumbled, looking to Paul for answers. Patryk was sending him a similar questioning look, taken off-guard by Tord’s sudden change in tone. Both of them were waiting on answers that Paul had not expected to have to give that day, and he slammed into a brick wall whenever he tried to answer one or the other. So, he took the next best solution.

“So, uh, speaking of the Red Army, last time I saw you, you were a sniper,” Paul said, hoping that his memory was serving him right here. “How did you end up baking bread in the middle of London?”

Patryk seemed confused at first by the question, but realization dawned on his face as he came to recognize Paul’s strategy.

“Well, you see after I, uh,” he glanced at Tord, “ _left_  the army, I was traveling around Norway for some time, taking whatever work would have me. I struggled a lot, but then I met the owner of this bakery and he gave me a job washing dishes.”

“And your prowess at scrubbing plates made him decide to give you a promotion?” Paul asked.

“No,” Patryk said, “I was so awful at it that he begged me to do literally anything else.”

Paul laughed, and although it did not feel genuine, it was convincing enough that Tord joined in, seeming to relax and forget about whatever questions he had had.

The conversation evolved from there, Paul and Patryk swapping stories while Tord jumped in sometimes to ask questions or tell them about something that happened at school. Paul was always careful to steer them away whenever talk got too close to their lives in the Red Army, but otherwise he let it flow naturally, enjoying listening to someone else and being listened to in turn. Patryk, as it turned out, was a natural conversationalist and a calming presence, and the longer Paul sat near him the more peaceful he started to feel. It was nice, he realized, to be able to enjoy a moment and not worry so much about all of the things he had to do at home, or all of the dark memories just waiting to be brought to the surface. He felt freer than he had in ages, to the point that even watching the other two eat he completely forgot about his own hunger and stopped feeling it altogether. He could still admit to himself that Patryk’s sandwich looked lovely, but he did not voice his thoughts, instead focusing on whatever story Patryk had to tell next.

He was so wrapped up in the conversation that he failed to notice when a full half hour had passed and Patryk’s break ended. Patryk only just managed to glance at his watch at the right time, the suddenly disappointed look in his eyes stopping whatever Paul had been in the middle of saying.

“Time to get going?” he asked, watching as Patryk started to gather up his trash, the only remaining evidence of his lunch.

“Yeah, I’ve got to get back there, the bread’s not going to stare at itself.” He smiled once more, though it was smaller now, tinged with sadness. “Good seeing you, Paul. And you, too, Tord.”

Tord, realizing that the time had come for them to leave, wasted no time jumping up from his seat and racing out the front door. He did not even turn back to say goodbye, but Patryk didn’t seem to mind, his smile growing an inch as he picked up the discarded wax paper.

“Thanks for that,” Paul said, indicating the paper. “He’s not great at showing it, but it meant a lot to him to get that from you. And, I appreciate it, too.”

“Oh, yeah, no problem,” Patryk said, gathering up the last of the trash and carrying it over to the waste bin. “It’s nice to see him so happy. You’ve done a good job with him, Paul.”

Paul choked on his own spit, coughing and feeling his eyes start to well with tears. He knew that Patryk was wrong, and part of him wanted to fight back, point out every single way he had failed as a parent, but he didn’t, mostly out of fear of Patryk validating his anxieties. As many times as he reminded himself how bad he was at this, he didn’t think he could handle hearing it from another person.

“Thanks,” he said, not entirely meaning it but knowing that it was the polite thing to do. Patryk turned back to him and smiled again, but it was clear that he was waiting for something. An explanation, Paul realized, for that awkward leap in the conversation, the one that had slipped by Tord but was completely noticeable to anyone else.

“I, uh. I haven’t told him about his grandfather,” Paul admitted, trying not to shiver at the words. Most of the time, he got along fine without even thinking of the man. “I’ve barely told him anything about the Red Army, to be honest. I fought so hard to get us out of that life, telling him about it just seems like it would start to pull him back in. You understand, right?” He was surprised how important it was to him that Patryk understood his reasoning, and didn’t chalk Paul’s decision up to negligence.

“Yeah, I understand,” Patryk said. Relief swooped through Paul. “What about Silje? Does he know about her?”

“No,” Paul said. “I don’t think he’s ever even heard the name. I haven’t said it around him, at any rate.” He did feel a twinge of guilt over that, and from the look in Patryk’s eye, he could tell it was deserved. While Tord’s grandfather had done a great deal that deserved to be forgotten, Silje had never been anything but a friend to Paul. She probably, no, she  _definitely_  deserved more recognition than he had yet afforded her. “I’ll get to it someday,” he promised, “it’s just never been the right time.”

“I hear you,” Patryk said. “Just take it one day at a time.” He leaned back against the counter. “I’m glad I got to see you again Paul, I…” He stopped for a moment, chewing his lip. “I was worried about you.”

Paul blushed. “Uh, thanks,” he said. “I mean, I’m sorry that you were worried. Tord and I, we just needed to disappear.”

“Yeah, I know,” Patryk said, standing up and stepping back behind the counter. “We all did, after what happened. It’s probably for the best that it took us this long to find each other, anyway.” He smiled at Paul one last time. “But hey, stop by again some time. I want to hear more about what you’ve been up to.”

Then he was gone, disappeared into the kitchen, and Paul realized that the time had come for him to take his leave. He walked into the shading street and, seeing Tord waiting for him, felt the smallest smile quirk at the corner of his mouth.


	4. Sprigs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: homophobia.

Patryk hated pushups. He hated the way his muscles burned, he hated feeling sweaty, he turning bright red, like a tomato. The longer he went, the more he hated them. The more he did, the harder it was for him to stop.

All the while, he could feel the stares of the other soldiers on the back of his head, and he heard them laugh together whenever he messed up or had to take a break. They always looked away when he turned to glare at them, but he knew that they went right back to staring at him as soon as he got back into position, and the laughter refused to stop.

He kneeled down after a set, wiping the sweat off of his forehead and looking around the room. For a moment, he thought that the others had finally lost interest in him and had returned to their own workouts, but then a couple of taller men glanced in his direction, smirks clearly present on both of their faces. Even if they looked away quickly, Patryk could still feel the sting as though they had outright laughed at him. He crawled back into position, trying to ignore the burning in his arms as he did so, and mentally reminded himself that this was the life he had signed up for.

He started to lower himself down once more, which is when his right arm gave out and he crash onto his nose on the floor.

“Your form is off.”

Patryk sat up rubbing his nose and turned around, expecting to face more smirks and amused stares. He was tired and frustrated and maybe a bit angry at this point, but all of it vanished when he realized that he was facing Paul. The son of the general. The man other soldiers made space for when he walked down the hall.  _That_ Paul. They had walked by each other several times in the week since Patryk’s arrival, but this was the first time Paul had addressed him directly and the intense rush of emotions was a bit overwhelming for Patryk.

“M- my…” He stuttered and stumbled, unable to get any words out. Paul’s gaze was gentle, but there was something fiery behind it that was making Patryk squirm.

“Your form,” Paul said. He dropped a bag of equipment he had been holding, either oblivious to or ignoring the way Patryk flinched at the crash. He kneeled down so they were at eye level with one another, and the proximity sent a chill through Patryk, who only just now realized he still had a hand up to his nose and promptly dropped it.

“Come on,” Paul continued, and yeah, he had to be oblivious to Patryk’s discomfort, there was no way anyone could ignore something like this without at least cracking a smile, “get back into it, I’ll show you.”

Without thinking, Patryk complied, getting back into the plank position. After a morning of hard exercise, his body was still sore, but he didn’t dare drop out of it with Paul still watching him.

“Straighten your back.” Patryk tried to do so, but apparently he didn’t do enough, as he felt a hand on his back start to push hm down. “Your core’s not getting anything out of this if you’ve got your butt in the air. Straighten your back.”

Patryk tried to ignore the rising heat in his cheeks. He could remember his teachers talking to him like this back in primary school, and while it had been a nuisance then, now it was embarrassing, especially knowing that Paul probably had much more important things to do than teach an incompetent recruit how to do a pushup. Still, with all of Paul’s focus on him, Patryk found that he had no other choice than to listen to the instruction.

“Your hands are too far apart,” Paul said. “You want them shoulder-width, no more. And keep your back straight, no slacking off.”

Patryk made the adjustments, although his repeated mistakes only made him shame grow worse. He wished that Paul would keep his voice down, certain that at any moment the other soldiers would turn around and start staring again.

“Why are you doing this?” he whispered without looking up. Somehow, he knew that Paul would be able to hear him. “Don’t you have more important things to be doing?” He did not mean for it to come off as snarky, but at the same time would not have regretted it if that was the way it was received.

Instead of answering, Paul looked over Patryk one last time and then sat down in front of him.

“Down,” he said.

Despite still wanting his question answered, Patryk found that he could not refuse, and he lowered himself down. His arms shook, but he was able to hold himself up, and even as his muscles burned he found that he was unafraid of falling again.

Paul leaned down. “Further,” he said. “The lowest you can go.”

Patryk lowered himself further, trying not to imagine what it would feel like trying to push himself back up.

“Is that your lowest?” Paul asked.

Patryk gave a sharp nod, unable to actually speak.

“Good. Keep going.”

Patryk sucked in a large lungful of air and let it out slowly as he lowered himself down. His muscles were tired, his body was screaming, but Paul was right there and Patryk found that he did not want to disappoint him. He went down until his nose was just inches from the floor, at which point Paul leaned down close. Patryk felt a spike of fear that was was going to be forced down further, but instead Paul’s voice was quiet, no longer commanding Patryk to act.

“They’re not going to take you seriously as long as you don’t look like you know what you’re doing,” he whispered. Patryk couldn’t look up to see his face, and he was not sure that he wanted to. “You have to learn to watch out for yourself, it’s not safe here.”

“Paul!”

Patryk glanced up towards the source of the voice, dropping one knee in the process. Paul stood up, turning to face Maxim as he strode across the gym. Even from his place near the floor, Patryk could see that Maxim was taller than Paul by several inches, the effect exaggerated by Maxim’s straight back and Paul’s minor slouch. For some reason, Patryk found it slightly intimidating, despite the fact that Maxim had been polite to him so far. They had not spoken much at all since Patryk’s arrival, but Maxim still treated him like a human being, which was better than he could say for many of the people in the army.

“What is it?” Paul’s voice was different, sounding more like a soldier than it had moments before. Of course, Paul  _was_  a soldier, and trying to separate that from the rest of his identity would be like pulling ink off of a page.

“I just wanted to check on the new recruit,” Maxim said. “Are you alright, Patryk?”

Patryk was still trying to find his breath, so he took a moment to answer.

“Y- yeah,” he spluttered. “‘M fine.”

“Was Paul giving you any trouble?”

Patryk glanced up at Paul, whose was staring at Maxim with a blank expression.

“Not really,” he said. “Just giving me some pointers. We’re fine.”

It was now Maxim’s turn to kneel down beside Patryk, dropping his voice down low, although Patryk suspected that Paul could still hear him. “It’s okay to say you need help,” he whispered. “Did he touch you in any way?”

Patryk’s mind went back to the light press on his back, and part of him doubted that he should even mention such an innocent thing. But with Maxim’s eyes boring into him, he found it impossible to stop himself.

“Yeah, once,” he said. “It’s not like it was anything bad, though, I’m fine.”

Maxim did not seem to hear the last part, though, as he stood up and looked down on Paul.

“You should leave,” he said.

“I should?” The Paul who had been helping Patryk was gone completely, now, replaced with someone much firmer and more aloof. “And are you in a position to give me and commands, Maxim?” It sounded more like an honest question than Patryk had expected, and he became curious if there was some other conversation going on here that he was not a part of.

“It’s not a command, Paul,” Maxim said. “It’s a suggestion, for the purpose of creating an army that is safe for its own troops.“

A flicker of something hot and hateful ghosted across Paul’s face, a twitch in his brow that fled before Patryk had a better chance to observe it. Paul looked like he was preparing to retort, but then something caused him to look away from Maxim. Patryk glanced around, and realized that almost every person in the gym had turned to look at them. This time, though, they had no interest in Patryk. Instead, they were all watching Paul.

Patryk would have crumpled under their scrutiny at this point, but Paul stood strong, looking at each person as they watched from the sidelines. Some went back to what they had been doing as soon as they were noticed, trying not to look suspicious by lifting weights or refocusing on their treadmills. Others, though, gave no thought to modesty, and continued to stand and wait for Paul’s reaction. Patryk himself was staring at this point, barely breathing as he watched the other man.

Paul said nothing, but just before he walked away, he turned to look down at Patryk, and their eyes met for a split second. Patryk felt his heart speed up in an instant, the effect lasting even after Paul had turned away and walked out of the room.

There was a pause before the other soldiers returned to their routines. Some whispered to each other, others watched the spot where Paul had disappeared. Patryk noticed a few of them glance towards him, but he had mostly lost their interest, simply a prop in some greater scene that had unfolded before them. He wished his heart would stop beating so hard.

“Are you alright, Patryk?” Maxim asked offering him a hand. Patryk took it and let himself be helped up, nearly tripping as he stood up and remembered just how exhausted his body was. He wanted a nap.

“I said I’m fine,” Patryk said, trying to keep accusation out of his voice. Maxim did seem like he was trying to help, but he had taken the whole thing a touch too far, in Patryk’s opinion. There had to have been more diplomatic solutions to the problem.

Not that Patryk knew exactly what the problem was.

“Patryk, I know you want to look tough in front of everybody else, but you’re going to need allies at some point, which means you’re going to have to open up,” Maxim said, placing a heavy hand on Patryk’s shoulder. He stumbled a bit under the weight of it. “I know people might seem friendly to you right now, but things change, Patryk. It’s not safe here.”

“Yeah, that’s what  _everyone_  keeps saying to me,” he grumbled, pent-up frustrations starting to leak out. “But, it’s weird, I still have no idea what’s so unsafe that you all have to keep warning me about it. It would be great if you could, I don’t know,  _elaborate_ , maybe?”

Maxim’s hand disappeared from Patryk’s shoulder. For a moment, he was afraid that he had offended the taller man, but the serious look on Maxim’s face did not look angry. His brow was furrowed, his mouth pulled into a tight line, and although there was no rage there, it still made Patryk want to disappear. He realized it was like looking into the face of a disappointed parent.

“I’m trying to keep you safe, Patryk,” he said. “There are sides in this army that extend beyond the battlefield, and I want to make sure you end up on the right one.”

“What makes any side the right one, though?” Patryk asked. He was begging now, but he didn’t care, he just wanted answers. “How do you choose who to trust and who you can’t?”

“You’ve decided to trust me, haven’t you?” Maxim asked. The question gave Patryk pause, so that he nearly spaced out of the rest of the conversation. Had he chosen to trust Maxim? Or had he been put in a position where he was forced to, the hostility of the army making him take the first ally to come his way? He wanted a moment to think about it, but Maxim was barreling on, and Patryk was only just able to snap back to attention before he was left behind entirely. “I was the one who greeted you, Patryk. I told you about life here, I gave you advice. I’ve been  _helping_ you, all along. Isn’t that enough proof that I want what’s best for you?” Maxim took a step closer. “I see a lot of potential in you, Patryk, I want to help you reach that.”

“And you think I can’t without your help?” Patryk asked. “Why? I get stared at sometimes, sure, and people have been rude, but nobody’s actually done anything to try to hurt me yet. What’s the big deal? Why the hell does everyone keep reminding me that this place is so unsafe?”

“Because you don’t know the difference between people who want to help you, and people who want to use you,” Maxim said, advancing further. Patryk found himself taking a step back, but it didn’t seem to widen the space between them anymore. “He touched you, Patryk. He got up close to you so you wouldn’t have been able to get away. He was telling you what to do, and you  _listened to him_. Patryk, someone is already trying to hurt you, and you didn’t realize it. You need me to protect you.”

“Paul wasn’t hurting me then, though. He was just being nice! He helped me.” Patryk wasn’t sure who he was trying to convince anymore. Maxim, or himself.

Silje’s words rang in his mind,  _I’m worried about him_.

Maxim took another step forward so that his face was inches from Patryk’s. At the distance, the man seemed to tower over him.

“He’s a  _predator_ , Patryk.” He bit out the word. Patryk felt a drop of spit land on his cheek, but he didn’t dare to wipe it away. “He’s being nice to you now because he wants your body. He’s going to get you to trust him, then he’ll use you, and you’ll never be able to look at yourself the same way again.” He jabbed a finger into Patryk’s chest. “Is that what you want? To be another man’s cum rag?”

Patryk was shaking. It felt like everything had gotten too loud and deathly quiet all at once, so that now he was vaguely aware of just two things: the feeling of Maxim’s finger pushing into the space between his ribs, and his own growing need to get away. He didn’t care where he went, or how he got there. He just had to get out of this room.

“I- I- I…” He swallowed and tried again. “I have to shower.”

He turned and fled, not waiting for Maxim’s permission before he barreled off between the equipment. He had no idea if Maxim called out to him or not, only that he had to get away, find an exit, just  _get away_.

He dashed into the locker room, not checking to see if anyone was there before he sunk onto a bench and buried his face in his hands. He was still shaking, but he had no idea if it was out of fear or anger or some dreadful combination of the two. His racing thoughts gradually started to slow down, and he was able to pick out the loudest ones from the bunch.

The first thing he noted was that he was in deeply over his head. While nothing about this experience had been easy from the beginning, it was only now striking him just how overwhelming it all was. Living with his family in Poland, he had had his share of conflict, but it had never gotten to such a point that he felt out of control. Like he was being pulled along a winding path and he just had to pray he wasn’t crashed into anything. It was terrifying, unforeseeable, and he desperately wanted to find some way off.

Which was what led him to his second realization: from here, there was no way off. He had left behind everything, money, family, even name, back in Poland, and was now trapped in this building of bars and concrete. When he made the promise that he would remain here for life, he did so without questioning what would happen if he did try to leave, but now as his mounting fears crashed into him he started to realize the truth. Any organization that forced its soldiers to leave behind their identities and refused to give any information in a straightforward manner would not take kindly to its newest recruit disappearing one day. And, as the newest recruit, he doubted he could make it far if he tried.

He sunk his head deeper into his hands, desperately wishing to disappear into the inky blackness. Never in his life had he felt so alone, so separated from anyone who might have offered him a helping hand.

Well, that wasn’t entirely true. He stood up from the bench and walked out of the locker room, shower now completely forgotten. It was too soon for him to talk to Paul about this, and he wasn’t sure what he would say to Maxim once they bumped into each other again. But Silje, he figured she would listen to him and help him out of this. At the very least, she might let him hide in the kitchen until he was ready to face the rest of the army again.

He walked up the concrete hallways towards the kitchen, already having memorized the route and not as afraid of getting lost in the expansive structure. When he arrived, he didn’t bother to knock, knowing that no one would hear him over the evening chaos, and instead opened the door and let himself in, looking around for the giant woman.

Finding Silje was not hard. The chaos of the kitchen seemed to gravitate around her, but she remained in control, working on her own task while occasionally barking orders at the other cooks. As Patryk walked closer, he saw that she was standing over a pan of raw chicken, tossing seasonings and spices onto it with a practiced ease. As Patryk walked up, she was pulling apart sprigs of some purple flower and sprinkling them on top. She stopped when she noticed the new presence and her gaze snapped to Patryk, eyes widening as she looked him over. He wondered what he must have looked like, and assumed he must have been in pretty bad shape when Silje stepped away from the food and walked over to him.

“Patryk,” she said as she approached, worry switching into anger in the blink of an eye. “Have you been taking any care of yourself? You look dreadful. When’s the last time you ate?” She gestured at him with the hand still holding the flowers, and a few petals fell down to the floor.

Patryk considered for a moment.

“I came in for dinner last night,” he said.

“Christ,” she said, already taking his shoulder and steering him out of the main bustle of the kitchen. “Patryk, everyone in this army needs to eat. That’s why they hired me, to make sure everyone gets food. If there’s one person in the army who’s not eating enough, then that’s my fault, and I intend to fix every mistake I make. So, right now,” she gave him a light shove, “you’re going to go in my office, and you’re going to have a meal.”

Patryk was too exhausted by now to argue, so he let himself get pushed into the stuffy little office. As soon as he was inside, Silje turned and went to get food, the other cooks parting to let her pass. Patryk took the moment to observe the office, taking in the desk, clear of clutter, and two chairs, one on either side. There was a set of filing cabinets behind the desk, and various folders and binders stacked up around the room, but it all had a sense of order about it, and Patryk could tell that this space meant a lot to Silje. He settled down into one of the chairs, somewhat afraid now of messing up the room’s balance, and resigned himself to waiting.

That did not last too long, at least, as Silje was back a few minutes later with a plate and utensils. She handed the plate to Patryk, and he saw that it was a piece of chicken with a few sprigs of the purple flower on top, which he could now identify as lavender. He appreciated the gesture, but knew that he could not start eating immediately, and placed everything on the desk before he turned back to Silje.

“Thank you, Silje,” he said, “I appreciate it. But I really did come in to talk to you about something. It’s important.”

Without needing to ask, Silje stepped further into the room and closed the door behind her. The noise of the kitchen was instantly muffled, and Patryk doubted anyone on the outside would be able to hear them from within.

He played with his hands while he spoke.

“I’ve been hearing… rumors,” he started.

Silje seemed to deflate.

“Is this about Paul?” she asked.

Patryk was surprised by how quickly she caught on, but he nodded.

“Yeah, today Maxim told me some things about him. I didn’t believe him, but they were pretty bad, and I, uh…” Didn’t feel safe? Wanted to confirm they were just rumors? Wished that he had just stayed home in Poland? He didn’t know which statement was truest, so he shrugged and looked to Silje for help.

But Silje no longer looked kind and caring. She stepped forward, forcing Patryk to push back into the chair as she towered over him.

“Do you have a problem with that?” she growled. “I don’t care  _what_ Maxim says Paul is, if you have  _any_  problems with gay people, then I want you out of my office, and I never want to see you in my kitchen again.”

“No, no, it’s not like that!” Patryk squeaked, wondering why conversations just couldn’t go right for him today. “I don’t have anything against people like that. I knew a couple of girls who were dating back home, I’m totally okay with it!” Silje backed off, although she still stood much closer than Patryk felt comfortable with, and the steely expression on her face stayed in place. “It’s just… Maxim said that Paul was using me. He wanted me. And I didn’t believe him, still don’t, but now it seems like everything is falling apart and I don’t know how to fix it.”

Silje sighed. The anger gave way to something else, and to Patryk’s eye she almost seemed sad. She walked behind her desk and sat down, leaning forward towards Patryk. “There’s nothing you can do to fix it, Patryk. Things have been going bad here for a long time now.”

“So, Maxim’s been saying that stuff for a while?” Patryk asked.

“Yes,” Silje said. Her voice was grave. “He started spreading rumors about Paul’s sexuality not long after he arrived. The other soldiers, particularly the senior ones, didn’t pay much attention to him at first. They all know that Paul is a capable soldier, so a little rumor like that, it didn’t bother them much. Plus, people had already had their suspicions, so this felt more like a confirmation than any big reveal.” She leaned back, looking up at the ceiling. “Unfortunately, he figured out how to get in well with the new recruits. We had a surge of them about a month back, and Maxim was able to casually reach out to all of them, which meant they assumed that the thing was common knowledge. And that’s generally how it’s been treated. Until you.”

“Me?” Patryk tried to think back on something he could have done to have triggered the shift, but he could think of nothing.

“Maxim has never before warned anyone that Paul, how did you say it, ‘wants them’. He hasn’t been fear-mongering so far, just spreading ideas.” She huffed. “I didn’t want to believe it before, but I think he does have an end goal, and your arrival could mark the start of the next phase of his plan.”

Patryk gulped. “Is Paul in danger?”

Silje shook her head. “It’s hard to say. I don’t think Maxim would resort to violence just yet, but these psychological methods can be damaging in their own way. For Paul’s sake, this has to stop soon.”

“But Maxim won’t stop just because we tell him to,” Patryk said. It was an obvious thing, but someone had to say it. “I’m just a new recruit, and you said yourself that the other soldiers don’t respect you. What are we supposed to do?”

For the first time in the week he had known her, Patryk saw Silje become uncomfortable. She sat back in her chair, avoiding eye contact as she started to speak again.

“There is one thing I can do,” she said. “It’s a bit… extreme, but I’ve used it plenty of other times I needed to make a point or get a favor. It should serve our purposes this time as well.”

Patryk waited for an explanation, but Silje had grown still, apparently lost in her thoughts.

“What’s your plan?” he asked gently.

Silje snapped back to reality. “My body,” she said. “If Maxim is trying to convince people that Paul wants yours, then we just have to prove to them that he’s interested in something else.”

Something tight and uncomfortable formed in Patryk’s stomach. It was a feeling he could neither name nor explain, but he tried his best to will it away. For Paul’s sake.

“You’re going to have sex with him,” he stated. It felt weird to put that word out in the air, but it was important for him to say.

“Only if he will let me,” Silje said. “If not, we can look for something else. But I think this is what it will take to get him out of this.”

“Christ,” Patryk breathed. This was not a conversation he had ever expected to have. “Do you think he even could? If he… if he does like men, wouldn’t it be impossible for him to do that with you?”

“There’s only one way to find out,” Silje said. “One of us has to ask.”

Patryk realized she was staring at him. He started to tap his foot nervously.

“You don’t actually mean, you don’t…”

“No, eat first,” Silje said, pushing the plate towards him. “Then, I’d ask you to consider it.”

 

Patryk found him sitting on a bench near the showers, alone among the lockers and empty gray walls. Paul had his back to Patryk when he entered, but instantly snapped to attention when he heard someone behind him, only marginally relaxing when he realized who it was.

“Patryk,” he said, apparently the only word he could think of.

“Paul.” Patryk was trying to be serious, but he could feel a nervous fidget in his left foot that didn’t want to go away. He had never felt such immense pressure in asking a single question. “Are you busy right now?”

“No, I have a moment,” Paul said. He reached into his jacket pocket and retrieved a box of cigarettes, gently shaking it open before glancing at Patryk. “Want one?”

“No, thanks,” Patryk said, although he imagined that it might have been good for him right then.

Paul shrugged, pulling one cigarette out before returning the box to its resting place. Patryk sat down on the bench while Paul pulled out a lighter, and he watched as Paul lit the end of it and slowly inhaled before breathing back out again, smoke rising in lazy loops and curls.

“So what did you want to talk about?” he asked, watching the smoke float up into the air. Patryk might have watched, too, were his eyes not still trained on Paul’s face.

“I guess I just wanted to say I’m sorry,” he said, “for what happened yesterday. You know, in the gym.”

Paul continued to stare up at the smoke.

“Mm, it’s not your fault. I won’t approach you like that again, if it would make you more comfortable.”

“What? No,” Patryk said. “I was fine with what happened. I mean, I was fine with what you did. It was Maxim who overreacted and escalated the whole thing, so I’m sorry that it happened at all.”

“Seems more like something Maxim should be apologizing for,” Paul said. “But I appreciate the sentiment. Was that all?”

Patryk wished.

“No,” he said, trying and failing to ignore the way his toes started to curl. This was too much. He couldn’t say this. He couldn’t admit that he had been worried about Paul, and he couldn’t ask the dreadful question Silje had put before him. He simply couldn’t see any possible way.

“Patryk,” Paul said, snapping him back to his senses. Somehow without Patryk realizing it, the other man had leaned closer, eyes locked with Patryk’s. His expression was unreadable, but it didn’t seem angry, which had to be a good start. “Are you afraid of me?”

“No.”

The answer came so automatically that it actually managed to surprise Patryk a bit. Although he hadn’t thought about it much before, he realized now that he really wasn’t afraid of Paul at all. Intimidated, perhaps, but that was for good reason, and maybe a little bit nervous given what he had to say next. But he was not afraid of this man, and he was glad to finally understand that.

Paul, on the other hand, didn’t seem glad, but there was a new sense of relaxation around him now that Patryk hadn’t been able to see before. He slouched a bit, and the intense expression on his face gave way to something softer, more human. Patryk might have compared it to a flower blooming, but it was gentler than that, less grand but still a beautiful thing to get to see.

“I wasn’t expecting that answer,” Paul said. He leaned back away from Patryk and took another drag on his cigarette, letting the smoke dance up into the air. “But it’s nice to hear.”

It felt nice to say, too, although Patryk was unsure if it would be appropriate for him to say as much. Instead, he took this brief moment of confidence and decided to put it to use.

“I trust you,” he said, looking towards the empty lockers. “And I’m worried about you, especially after what happened there. Silje is, too.” Paul shot him a questioning glanced. “She’s the head cook.”

“Yeah, I know Silje,” Paul said. “I’m just wondering what happened that’s got the two of you worried about me. Seems like an unlikely pair.”

“Well, it has to do with what happened yesterday,” Patryk said. This was the moment. “Silje thinks Maxim is planning something against you. She’s worried that he’s going to try to hurt you somehow, that it’s only a matter of time.” This, here. He had to say it. “She has a plan to get him off your back.”

Paul was really watching him now, brow furrowed and cigarette forgotten, and Patryk realized that he had no choice but to go through with the rest of it. So, sitting alone in the locker room, he laid out for Paul their entire plan.


	5. Notes, Part 1

_[051 Norwood Ave_

_Can’t wait!]_

Paul had clutched the note between his fingers throughout the entire walk, refusing to let go even though he had memorized the address almost instantly. It was just dinner. He shouldn’t have been so nervous about it. Even Tord’s presence beside him, though, could not stop the trembling in his knee as he stepped up to the door and pressed the bell, hearing it ring in the apartment just one story above them.

Patryk had even made an effort to emphasize how casual this was supposed to be when he had asked, an offhand suggestion thrown just as his break was ending.

“It feels like I’ve always got to go before we’ve really had a chance to talk,” he had said, a bit of melancholy dimming his usually bright disposition. Paul had felt something similar, but he had chosen not to share it for a variety of reasons, not the least of which being his fear that Patryk did not feel the same. For once, being proven wrong did not feel so bad.

“Yeah,” he said as he helped Tord pull on his backpack. “But what can you do? I don’t think your boss would take kindly to us keeping you on your break any longer.”

“You’re not wrong about that,” Patryk had said. “But, this doesn’t have to be the only time we talk to each other.” Paul hadn’t been looking at him as he said the next line, but a part of him wished that he had. “You and Tord can come over for dinner some time, if you’d like.”

Paul blinked, shaking his head before the memory could go any further. He didn’t want to think about the way he had turned into a stuttering mess at that point, struggling to keep up his carefully constructed barriers while at the same time feeling touched that Patryk had thought to include them in anything. He had spent a few moments looking more or less like a fish before Tord had stepped in and, knowing that Patryk would have some supply of baked goods wherever he lived, happily accepted for the two of them. A few moments later, Paul had agreed as well.

He pushed the note deep into his pocket as the knob turned and the door opened in front of them. Nope. He definitely was not thinking about that.

“Paul, Tord!” Patryk said, swinging the door open wide and stepping back to let them inside. “Come on in, so great to see you. Was the drive alright?”

“We, uh, walked,” Paul said, distracted by the splendor of the apartment’s entryway. The floor and stair railings were a fine dark wood, and the wallpaper was a pretty green dotted with a tiny white flower pattern. The lights affixed to the walls gave off a gentle orange glow, just enough to see by without being harsh, and Paul was struck by just how different it was from their own apartment, with its dull gray walls and piercing overhead lights. He had never been here before, but something about it felt like home.

“Oh, do you live nearby?” Patryk asked.

“No,” Tord said before Paul, still distracted by the hallway, could jump in. “Paul just hates driving, so he never drives us anywhere unless it’s really far.”

Patryk’s amused glance made Paul blush.

“I don’t hate driving,” he clarified. “But I’m a… A…” He wished this was not so hard for him to say. Even around the PTA, he had struggled to be honest about his job, and he didn’t care at all what any of them thought of him. “I’m a taxi driver. I spend all day on the road, with other people telling me where to go. So, when I have a chance to actually walk somewhere, I like to take it.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Plus, we, uh, haven’t had our own car in a while. Payments and maintenance, they start to add up, you know?”

“Yeah, I understand,” Patryk said, giving him a reassuring smile. He indicated the stairs leading up. “Shall we?”

Tord bounded up the stairs, taking them two at a time and reaching the top before Paul could even think to warn him about being careful. Paul and Patryk climbed up at a slower pace, Paul dreading Patryk’s reaction before he heard the other man chuckling.

“He’s a little ball of sunshine, isn’t he?” Patryk asked, and Paul found he had to laugh.

“He’s got the energy, I guess,” he said as they reached the top of that flight of stairs and then walked up to the only door on that landing. Tord was standing there, watching them without saying anything. “If you could convince his teachers the same, it would be a big help.”

“Convince my teachers about what?” Tord asked.

“That you’re the best thing to ever happen in their stuffy classrooms, obviously,” Patryk said, stepping forward to open the door. He let Paul and Tord follow him in, stepping aside to let them get a look. “I actually cleaned up a bit before you got here. Feel free to make yourselves comfortable, I’ll have dinner ready in a few minutes.” He took a step forward, then turned around again. “Unless you want to help out? It should be simple, I’m almost done with everything.”

Paul nearly missed the question, he was so caught up in gazing around Patryk’s apartment. They seemed to be standing in the main living space, a kitchen and living room separated by a low bar with three wooden stools pulled up to it. The kitchen was brimming with light, filled with rich, buttery yellows that made it glow, while the living room had a gentler life to it, the light not so bright but still plenty to see by. There was a tan sofa on the far wall, and a stand with a TV right beside the door. In between was a coffee table on which rested a small collection of potted plants. Paul could see that Tord had taken notice of a cactus sitting on the edge, but the boy made no move towards it, apparently just as awe-struck by the space as Paul was.

This was not their home, but Paul imagined that it would be nice to come back to something like it at the end of each day.

He remembered then that Patryk had asked him a question, although the exact words were now lost on him.

“Sorry, uh, can you repeat that?” he asked, dragging his gaze away from the room and back to Patryk, who had stood waiting patiently the whole time. “I just got distracted. It’s a lovely place.”

“Oh, thank you,” Patryk said, looking around as if he was just stepping into the room for the first time. “I got really lucky with it, I’ll admit. My boss helped me find it.”

“Ah.” Paul couldn’t help the jealousy that surfaced at that. He would have loved to have help when he had been struggling to find a place for him and Tord to live when they first arrived in London, but he had had no such luck. “Um, what were you saying earlier? About dinner?”

“Oh, right,” Patryk said, turning back to the kitchen. “Right, do you two feel like helping out a bit to get this ready?”

“I, uh,” Paul rubbed the back of his neck, “I would love to, but I can’t really cook. At all.”

“Oh,” Patryk said. The disappointment on his face stung Paul, but he figured this was better than the alternative, Patryk discovering that Paul could not stand to be around knives, particularly in a kitchen setting. After all this time, he had made himself comfortable enough to keep one in the kitchen for the rare times he did try to cook, but he doubted that he could handle standing near Patryk should he pull one out. “Well, that’s no problem. Want to set out plates, then, while I finish up dinner?”

“Sure,” Paul said, grateful to have some way to be useful.

“I can help make dinner!” Tord volunteered, and Paul was glad that he could keep himself composed while being shown up by his own son.

“Sounds great, Tord,” Patryk said, leading the boy into the kitchen. On the way, he pointed to a cabinet on the far wall, saying, “Oh, Paul, you can find everything you need in there. Feel free to grab whatever, it’s all pretty much the same.”

“Oh, yeah, sure,” Paul said, walking up to the cabinet. It was older than some of the other furniture in the apartment and well made, some sort of old wood carved with elegant loops and spirals. It almost reminded him of something that might have appeared in his own house growing up. This, though, was more weathered than his father would have allowed, scuffs and nicks appearing more frequently the longer he looked at the old thing. This piece of furniture, he guessed, had been well used, and at the same time well loved.

He opened one side and then the other, the doors popping open after just a moment of sticky resistance. Inside, he discovered several shelves of plates, as well as one with a shallow box for utensils and, at the very bottom, a collection of placemats and napkins. He started with the placemats, almost reaching for several red ones but pulling back at the last second and grabbing a trio of navy blue instead. He was able to find a set of matching napkins as well, so he pulled those out and set the lot on the counter before going back to the cabinet for plates and silverware. For these, he went with simplicity, taking three gray plates and the first set of matching silverware he could find. These, too, he took back to the counter, where he set to work laying everything out and arranging it as best he could according to what few table manners he could still remember. It had been years since anything like that had mattered to him, but now it did, and he took the extra time to remember which side of the plate the fork was supposed to go on.

When he felt content with how everything looked, he walked back to the cabinet and shut the door, then turned back to the others, only to find himself surprised by how much progress they had already made. Tord was helping to carrying a bowl of salad the short distance from the kitchen counter to the bar, and just behind him Patryk was pulling a foil-topped glass baking pan out of the oven, the contents of which were still hidden from Paul’s view. As soon as Tord had put down the salad, he walked back and got a bowl of sliced bread, after which came a little white plate with a stick of soft butter on top.

Meanwhile, Patryk had retrieved a shallow dish from one of the kitchen cabinets, and he at last pulled off the foil to reveal three small chicken breasts, marinating in sauce and topped with herbs, olives and plums. The aroma of cooked meat hit Paul all at once, and he needed a moment to convince himself that he belonged here and was wanted.

He didn’t realize he had been staring until his stomach growled, earning an amused glance from Patryk. Paul was hungry, and for the first time there was nothing he could do to will it away.

“You can go ahead and take a seat, if you’d like,” Patryk said, returning his focus to the chicken. “You too, Tord. Thank you for your help, I think we’re just about done here.”

“Okay!” Before Paul even had a chance to approach the counter, Tord had zipped around the outside and pounced on the stool in the middle, grinning at the two adults. Patryk look surprised for a moment, but then it melted into easy amusement as he got back to work transferring their dinner to the serving dish. Paul waited to be certain that Patryk was okay with this arrangement before he sat down to the right of Tord, leaning with his elbows on the counter while he watched Patryk finish up and then carry the dish the short distance to the counter, placing it beside everything else they had prepared.

“ _Smacznego_ ,” he said, taking a moment to survey the meal before he followed the other two, walking around the counter and taking the last seat, on Tord’s left.

“Thanks,” Paul said, almost too overwhelmed by the smells to start just yet. He wanted a moment to appreciate this, the secure feeling of having real food before him and two people he trusted and cared about beside him. This was something he doubted he could let himself get used to, but in the moment he wanted to enjoy it.

Tord was the one to finally get things moving, reaching forward and grabbing the bowl of bread and pulling it close to him so that he could retrieve a few slices. After that, all three began helping themselves to the delicious spread. Tord needed Paul’s help getting the chicken onto his plate, but then refused to try a plum, even though he had promised to do so. Patryk had just laughed after watching Paul try, before taking the offensive fruit off of Tord’s plate and popping it into his own mouth, pointing out that it just meant more for them. Paul tried to make himself go slow as he ate, but his serving of salad was gone before he realized, and after the first bite it was all he could do not to tear through the chicken in a similar fashion. None of them talked much while they ate, and although Paul felt anxious about it at first, he soon allowed himself to relax into the comfortable silence.

When Paul finally finished, he was able to sit back, feeling a sense of fullness that he had not known in… what, years? It was hard to put a number on something like that. All he knew was that it had been a long time, and he wanted to relish this moment for as long as he could, knowing that it would not last forever.

Tord, too, seemed to be caught up in his own bliss, his head lolling slightly as he fought to keep his eyes open. Without speaking, he swiveled around on his chair and wandered off, possibly to get a closer look at Patryk’s cactus, although Paul did not feel like turning around to check.

Paul looked over and saw that Patryk was leaning forward with one elbow on the counter, cheek cupped in his hand. They caught each other’s eye, and Paul couldn’t help the way the corner of his mouth quirked up.

“That was amazing,” he sighed, leaning forward in a way that mimicked Patryk’s own posture, although Paul didn’t notice. “Honestly, I never had any idea you were such a good cook. No wonder you and Silje got along so well back then.”

“Aw, no, I was a terrible cook back then,” Patryk laughed. “The day we first met, she actually told me to never bet on a career in food, I was so bad at it. I really only got better because of her, she taught me pretty much everything I know.”

“Ah,” Paul said, leaning heavier onto his hand. The meal had made him sleepy, and at this point it wasn’t hard to imagine falling asleep right where he sat. “How did you two find time for cooking lessons?”

“Oh, you know,” Patryk said, sitting up now. “In between training. We found the time.” Before Paul knew what was happening, Patryk sat up straight on the stool and, in one fluid motion, slid onto the one right next to it, so that now he and Paul were side by side. Paul sat up a bit at the movement, surprised, but found that he was not uncomfortable with the development.

“Don’t mind if I sit here, do you?” Patryk asked. Paul was going to say no, but then their knees bumped together and his gut clenched and he decided, yes, that was too close. He scooted over an inch, just enough so there was no more accidental touching, and his mood turned back to something more relaxed. He hoped that his brief discomfort had not been too obvious to Patryk, but just in case, he tried to think of something to cover it up.

“I don’t, but Tord might take some offense,” he said, wondering if he had managed to look as confident as he was desperately trying to feel.

Patryk glanced behind them and laughed. “Gonna be honest, Paul, I don’t think he has any problem with it.”

Paul turned as well, and was shocked to see Tord, fast asleep on Patryk’s couch. He had his head resting on one of the cushions and he had curled up onto one side, burying his face under one arm. He looked peaceful.

“Wow,” Paul said. “He looks… happy.”

“He does, doesn’t he?” Patryk said. “It’s been nice having him around the bakery lately. He makes me happy when skies are gray.” He was smiling as he talked, but as his voice trailed off the smile disappeared with it, and he seemed lost in thought for a moment. Paul became aware of a new tension in the room.

“Paul, Tord was talking earlier, while we were working in the kitchen,” he said, and Paul’s mind leapt to all of the worst possible scenarios. Tord had told Patryk what a mess their apartment was. Tord had mentioned to Patryk all of the times they had gone without food, when Paul was in between jobs and clawing for something to keep them afloat. Tord had confessed to the times Paul  _had_  had a job, he just could not roll himself out of bed for the sake of getting to it.

Tord had explained to Patryk why they had gone back to the bakery again in the first place. What had happened in the moments leading up to them walking through that door a second time.

Every possibility was awful, awful, awful, and Paul found himself starting to drown in them before he realized Patryk was still talking and he needed to stay afloat, at least long enough to get himself through this conversation. Then, he and Tord could go home, and they would never see Patryk again, just like Paul had known would happen at some point.

“He was talking about people at school,” Patryk was saying, and Paul just hoped he hadn’t missed too much while caught up in the riptide of his thoughts. “And, I know you said he’s had problems before, maybe he has, I don’t know, but I was listening to the way he says the other students treat him. And, I don’t know, Paul, maybe I’m overstepping my bounds here, but I think it’s possible Tord might be getting bullied.”

And out of all of the things that had gone through Paul’s mind, none of them could have ever come close to matching the horror that struck him now, unprepared and defenseless. It twisted his gut, raked up his spine, and sent his head spinning beyond his control.

Much as he wanted to shut down, though…

“What do you mean?” he demanded, fighting through the haze of bad thoughts and ugly emotions. “What did he say to you?”

Patryk ran a hand through his bangs. “Nothing really specific,” he said. “Just that some of the kids in school have ganged up on him in the past. They pick on him just to make him angry, and I guess they’ve started to get other kids in on it, so they won’t talk to him anymore.” He gulped. “It sounds bad, Paul. I’m kinda of wor-”

But Paul put a hand up, stopping him. “Don’t,” he said. “Just. Don’t say that.” He shook his head, but it was already too late, a parade of failure, failure, failure starting to beat through his head before he could stop it. He rubbed his eyes, shook his head again, but it was still there, the ever droning beat, all of the things he should have noticed before but didn’t, because he was so caught up in  _his_ problems and  _his_  worries. And all he could feel was his heart, picking up speed, and soon it would be racing and hammering and he wouldn’t be able to stop it and—

“Paul,” Patryk said. His voice sliced through it all like a knife, forcing Paul to open his eyes and see that he was still sitting in the brightly lit apartment, next to someone with eyes that looked like they cared. He was still here, he wasn’t going anywhere. “Are you okay?”

Paul blinked and swallowed, wishing that he had a glass of water but unable to ask for one. “Yeah,” he said. He knew that his voice was quiet, which would do little to reassure Patryk that he was alright, so he tried to raise the volume when he spoke again. “I just really don’t know what to do about this.”

“Oh.” Patryk bit his lip. “I mean, you could try talking to Tord’s teacher. He’s the one around when it’s happening, after all, he could probably do something to stop it.”

Paul wished he had it in him to laugh right then.

“Already ruined that possibility,” he said, rubbing his eyes once more before dropping his hand to look back at Patryk. “Bing and I have had some unfortunate encounters. I don’t know if I have it in me to go up to him again.”

“What, you? Champion of the Red Army, faced swarms of enemy soldiers all on your own, can’t even talk to a primary school teacher?” Paul couldn’t laugh at the joke, though, and Patryk noticed, moving on before the silence could become awkward. “Hey, I mean, I get it. Everyone has things they can’t do on their own. But, I do think this is important, for Tord’s sake, so if there’s anything I could do to help, just let me know what it is. Anything at all.”

Paul took a moment to digest the offer.

“Even going with me to talk to him?”

“If that’s what it takes,” Patryk said.

Relief rushed over Paul like a wave because, however impossible it seemed to face Bing after everything that had happened, he could just start to imagine himself doing it with Patryk by his side, supporting him in a way he so desperately needed.

He rubbed his eye once more, surprised to find a tear there.

“Thanks,” he said, not ready yet to fully commit but wanting Patryk to know how grateful he was for the offer. He glanced back at Tord, still asleep on the couch. “I should probably get him home. It’s late, and he’s got school in the morning.”

“Ah, yeah,” Patryk said, sliding off his stool so that Paul could stand up as well. Paul missed the disappointed look in Patryk’s eyes, turning back to him only after it had ghosted away and been replaced with something more content.

Paul looked over the mess of the kitchen. “Oh, I should help clean up.”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Patryk said, moving like he was going to pat Paul’s shoulder but then drawing back at the last second. “You two should get home. We can talk later about what you want to do next.”

“Right. Okay.” Paul walked over to Tord, clasping his shoulder and pulling him out of sleep. “Tord? You awake? We should probably head home now, it’s late.”

Tord blinked open his eyes, looking up at Paul blearily for a moment before he yawned and sat himself up, his messy hair even more out of control now than it had been when they arrived. He didn’t say anything, but took Paul’s offered hand as he slid off the couch and let himself be guided back to the door.

“Thank you so much, Patryk,” Paul said, “this was really wonderful.”

“It was my pleasure,” Patryk said. “I’d love to have the both of you over again some time, just let me know what works for you.”

“Yeah. Thanks.” Paul couldn’t help but feel there was something else he had to say, some other piece that would have made this night complete, but he didn’t have any idea what it was, or even a hint as to what it might have been. He could not shrug the feeling away, though, so after a moment of grappling with it, he reached into his pocket, grabbing out the note with Patryk’s address on one side. He did not know why he pulled it out, but Patryk’s eyes seemed to light up when he saw it, and before Paul could understand why, Patryk was reaching for it and gently taking it back.

“Hang on,” he said, dashing into the kitchen and throwing open one of the drawers. Paul, out of both courtesy and curiosity, stood by, still holding Tord’s hand, and waited to see where Patryk was going with this.

Patryk returned a moment later, handing the card back to Paul without a word. Paul looked down at the baby blue paper. It was the same on the side that was already right-side up, just Patryk’s address with an extra little note that had made Paul’s heart flutter when he read it. When he flipped it over, though, he couldn’t help but smile.

“Thanks, Patryk,” he said, tucking the note back into his pants pocket, knowing that he would hold onto this for some time. “And not just for this, for… for everything.” The word hung heavy in the air between them, weighed down by so many meanings it would have been impossible for Paul to untangle them all from each other enough to form a coherent thought. Instead, he figured, he could leave it at that for now, and he hoped that Patryk would get some inkling of what that word really meant. Everything.

Patryk just smiled.

“It’s no problem. I…” He shook his head, letting his bangs dance around his face. “I’ll see you soon. Goodnight, Paul.”

“Night, Patryk.”

Paul opened the door for himself, leading Tord out and down the stairs, then through the door and into the cool dark night. They walked by the glow of the street lights, although a few stars were still visible above them, twinkling and strong despite the harsh light of the city.

In his hand, Tord’s fingers were still warm, so much so that he forgot about the chill of the air and could actually let himself look up at the stars.


	6. Greetings, Part 1

The dress code for the Red Army was strict, and it applied to every member the same, whether they were a brand new recruit or a well-seasoned officer. Thick wool socks, always a muted brown color, not that anyone was going to complain about them in the dead of winter. Then came the heavy leather boots, each pair custom made for each soldier, equally as responsible for preventing frostbite. There was also the thick brown pants and the black leather belt. The signature red sweater.

There was only one item that separated the newest recruits from the rest of the army: the long blue jacket, or in a recruit’s case, the lack thereof. Everything else was handed to them on their first day of training, but the jacket had to be earned through months of work and a clear commitment to the cause.

Patryk was well aware of that the first time he pulled his arms through the still-crisp sleeves, feeling the material fit to the form of his body just right, like it was a second skin that he had been missing all this time.

He had been waiting for this moment since he woke up that morning and discovered the jacket at the end of his bed, the name tag already affixed to the front of it. Whoever made it had misspelled his name, but he didn’t care, too wrapped up in his own excitement to pay any mind to such a small detail. He had managed to contain himself until now, though, fully dressed and waiting in one of the exit wings for briefing. He almost wanted to sigh in contentment at his newest addition, but he doubted the other soldiers around him would have the same appreciation for it, so he held it in as an officer finally entered the wing, clipboard in hand.

Like most of the people around the base, Patryk had seen her before. Seen, but never spoken to, and he couldn’t remember her name for the life of him, nor was he certain that she had ever actually introduced herself to begin with. She had brown hair, kept up in a ponytail. Same uniform as everyone else. Overall, he would have described her as a generic soldier.

“Attention!” she said as she walked in, and the three lower-ranking soldiers turned to face her, eyes locked as they waited for their instructions. Patryk stood on the right of the trio, and while he had never met the other two formally, he recognized the one beside him without much effort. He could easily have been the shortest man in the army, and even most of the women had a good several inches on him, making him stand out whenever they were put in a lineup.

“Soldiers Patryk, Joel, and Olivia, you three will be taking regular patrol duty around the surrounding territory,” the officer said, pulling Patryk’s attention back to her. She was pacing in front of the soldiers while she spoke “You’ll be taking note of any abnormalities, making sure our safeguards are still in order. Average patrol, you should be able to handle it.” She stopped pacing so that she stood right in front of the short man, Joel, who, despite his size, didn’t seem at all intimidated by her proximity. “Paul, when he arrives, will be leading you. You are to follow his every command, unless you know for a fact that it goes against the best interest of the army.”

Patryk disliked the way she phrased that last part, although he made no attempt to voice his displeasure. The rumors, as far as he knew, had died down ever since Paul and Silje went through with their plan, but there would always be a few who regarded the man with an eye of suspicion. It was a small price to pay though, Patryk assumed, if it meant that the majority of soldiers had stopped tiptoeing around Paul so much.

“Understood?” the officer asked.

The three soldiers nodded in affirmation.

The officer looked them over, nodded once, and then left, leaving the three alone in the wing to wait for Paul’s arrival.

Patryk was glad that they did not have to stand there for long, Paul arriving just a couple of minutes after the officer had left. He walked in like Patryk had, still pulling on his jacket, and it seemed to take him a moment before he realized that there were other people in the room with him. When he finally did notice they were waiting for him, he stopped and looked between them for a moment, as if trying to remember what they were standing around for, and only seemed to remember when his eyes met Patryk’s.

“Right. Patrol,” he said, and he started walking to the other end of the room, which had a door leading to the outside. He gave no indication for the others to follow him, and they remained in place for a moment before rushing to catch up to him, tripping over themselves and each other in their haste.

Paul still did not look back as he pushed open the door and walked outside, letting it start closing behind him before Patryk caught it and held it open for the other two. Joel shot him a quick confused glance that Patryk could not help but reciprocate. Even if Paul was his friend, he had to admit that something about this felt off.

Patryk managed to catch up to Paul before they reached the gate surrounding the base. He himself had only been outside of it a few times since his arrival, and he always managed to be surprised by the sudden change in seasons. Already, he could see signs that winter was approaching, most of their shelter of trees halfway to barren already as their leaves danced down to the forest floor below. It did little to reveal the base’s hiding place, still deep in the woods and far from where anyone could see it, but Patryk had heard rumors that some of the higher-ups got antsy around this time of year as a result.

“Paul,” he said, his voice sounding too loud in the quiet of the woods. Since most activity tended to happen inside of the base, there was little left to make noise out here, so close to the middle of nowhere. “Is, uh…” Paul wheeled around, and the look in his eyes made the words die on Patryk’s lips. Some part of Paul’s calm, collected exterior had been chipped away, and through the crack, Patryk saw…  uncertainty? Fear? It was too hard to say, but it shook him so that he never wanted to see a look like that on Paul’s face again.

Patryk’s voice did seem to have some benefit, though, as Paul finally seemed to remember what his purpose was and stood to wait while the other two caught up. His fearful expression was gone long before they arrived, schooled back into something more fitting a soldier of his standing, and Patryk could only hope that it had been his own imagination that had made it appear so lost.

“Soldiers,” Paul said once they were all together. “As you know, we’re going to be patrolling the territory today. We’ll start by heading north into more mountainous area, before taking the switchbacks to the west and checking on the watchtower in the first quadrant. I suspect that will take us all day, but if we make good time, we can also head south a bit from there and see if anyone’s been near the area.”

The three soldiers nodded, and Patryk couldn’t help but notice the collective relief that swept through the three of them as soon as Paul’s was talking like himself again. Of course, that did not negate the fact that there was something else going on just beneath the surface, but for the sake of their work, it was uplifting to have him back to normal. Patryk would just have to find time later, when they were off patrol, to ask what was going on.

Paul led them out the gate and into the woods, and Patryk at once found himself at peace among the trees and remaining foliage. In fact, patrol was his favorite duty as a soldier, and up to this point it had been assigned to him only rarely, since most of his time was spent locked in the gym, struggling just to catch up to the other soldiers. He had come a long way in his training since he started, but he knew that there would always be more for him to work another, another goal to reach if he was to be a productive member of the organization. It helped, he supposed, to have someone like Paul to look up to, being such a natural soldier that strength and bravery seemed to flow in his blood.

And that was the exact thought going through his mind when he realized they were going the wrong way.

He went over Paul’s plan several times in his head, reasoning that Paul might be taking them on a shortcut to the craggy areas of the north. But the longer he thought over his knowledge of the territory, the more certain he became that there was no sensible way for them to get to their destination. Paul, it seemed, was set on taking them downhill, to the east.

Patryk glanced to the other two soldiers, and saw them side-eyeing him the same way. They all had a similar question in their eyes, and Patryk realized that it was now just a matter of who would act on it first. Patryk decided that it would be easiest for all of them, Paul included, if he was the one to ask, so he sped up to fall in line with his friend, still striding forwards in the wrong direction.

Patryk waved when he caught up, flashing Paul a brief smile that was not returned. He tried not to feel disappointed at that face, instead choosing to carry on, knowing that there were more important issues at hand.

“Uh, Paul,” he said, glancing back once. The other two were watching him, not saying anything but paying close attention to the conversation as it happened. “Can you go over the plan one more time?”

Paul stopped, taking a moment to understand what Patryk had said and find the words to answer the question.

“We’re going north, first,” he said. “Into the mountains. Don’t you remember?”

“Don’t you?” Joel’s voice made Patryk flinch. He had hoped he could talk to Paul one on one, but the other soldier was apparently uninterested in waiting. “Did you really not notice yet that we’re going on the wrong way? We should have been going uphill this whole time, but you’ve just been leading us down.”

Paul turned on the diminutive soldier. “Then why didn’t you say anything earlier?” he demanded, forgetting about Patryk as he stared down Joel. Patryk felt caught in between them, but he could not will his legs to move as he forced himself to watch the exchange, some of Paul’s frustrations already being reflected back at him as Joel took up a defensive position.

“I guess I just assumed that the person leading this patrol was competent enough to get us up a hill,” Joel said. “Besides, doesn’t your dad own all of this land? It’s practically your backyard, so how could you even get lost somewhere like this?.”

Patryk decided then that this conversation was headed in a very bad direction so, rather than let it go any further or turn any uglier, he placed himself more in between the two, facing Paul and with his back to Joel. He could see that, even with his professional mannerisms, Paul was angry. Not seething, yet, but his shoulders were stiff and his breathing was getting faster. Joel had managed to get under his skin.

“Come on, Paul,” he begged, keeping his voice down low so that just the two of them could hear. He didn’t know what the other soldiers were doing behind him, but he didn’t have time to care, all of his willpower focused on Paul. “He’s trying to get to you on purpose. If you let him under your skin, then you’ll be giving him a lot of power that he doesn’t deserve. So let’s just finish this patrol, and then you might never have to talk to him again.”

The tension in Paul’s shoulders leeched out little by little, settling down until the strain had melted away. He took several deep breaths, steadied himself, and just like that, he was calm again. At this point, Patryk desperately wanted to know what was doing on and if there was anything he could do to help, but the time was not right yet, not with the other two still waiting to get a move on. Patryk took a step back, still holding eye contact with Paul as he did so.

“You take the lead,” he said, voice still quiet. “If you start to veer off course again, I’ll give you a signal, okay?”

“Okay,” Paul said. He stood up straight again, not rigid, just firm, and looked towards Joel, who had watched the entire exchange without hearing a word. “We’ll be moving on now.” He didn’t bother to offer an explanation, but Patryk figured it was for the best.

When Paul started walking again, he did not immediately turn around, favoring instead a route that gradually turned them in the direction they needed to go. It was, at this point, too late to convince the soldiers that this had been his plan from the beginning, but Joel did not make any more comments, which had to be an improvement. Patryk could tell that the other soldier, Olivia, was somewhat confused and maybe a little bit annoyed, but she had the grace not to go after Paul for his momentary confusion, and instead followed behind at the rear, performing her patrol duties just the way she was supposed to.

Paul, at least, made almost no other mistakes as they made their way out of the woods and into the emptier, rocky areas of the north. As they walked along the sheer cliffs and jumped between boulders, he displayed a calm confidence that fit him much better than his earlier obliviousness, although it was underscored by a sense of uncertainty that appeared whenever the paths forked or disappeared altogether. At those points, he would glance to Patryk, who would do his best to indicate which way they were to go, either by pointing or nodding in the right direction. He was almost certain that Joel noticed him at several points, but the shorter man did not say anything, so Patryk decided to keep quiet as well. With any luck, they could get through this patrol without any more problems, and then he could talk to Paul about it when they had a moment alone later.

They got through the rocky terrain without any trouble, Paul stopping them a couple of times to jot down notes but otherwise plowing ahead due north. It was early afternoon when the ground started to level and then head downhill, and soon enough they were in the trees again, tromping across a forest floor covered in dead leaves and rotting wood. Like the base, the watchtower managed to remain hidden until they were almost on top of it, Patryk stopped just in time to avoid walking into one of its four tall legs. He had seen this spot marked on maps before, but had never yet visited the actual structure, and he had to marvel for a moment at its height, rising far off the ground alongside the trees while still managing to camouflage itself among them.

“We just need to check on the instruments up there, make sure everything is still working properly,” Paul said as he started towards a wooden ladder. Looking up, Patryk could see that the ladder led up to a platform built underneath the body of the watchtower, and stairs coming off of that led up to the actual building at the top. “You two,” he pointed at Joel and Olivia, “I want down here as lookouts. Patryk, you’re coming up with me.” Without waiting for confirmation, he turned and started up the ladder.

Patryk waited for a moment, then walked up to follow him. Right as he started climbing, though, he swore he heard Joel mutter, “Don’t you two take too long up there.” When he turned back around, though, Joel made no indication that he had spoken, and Patryk had no choice but to continue climbing.

Paul had already started walking up the stairs when Patryk reached the platform, and he continued to walk ahead as they ascended the massive structure. The stairs were wooden, and besides a flimsy guardrail had no actual protection against falling off. It made Patryk’s stomach lurch every time he looked over the edge, so he focused on putting one foot in front of the other, staring down at the steps because looking up meant he would be staring straight at Paul’s butt. For whatever reason, the sight was a little overwhelming to Patryk, and the two times he made the mistake of looking up he found himself blushing red like a tomato, only grateful that Paul was walking ahead of him and wasn’t able to see his embarrassment.

They reached the top and Paul unlocked the door, bouncing it open on his way in so that Patryk could catch it and let himself inside. He scanned over the contents of the little shack, too grateful to be off the stairs to feel at all underwhelmed by the old machines and dusty filing cabinets. Paul pulled off his jacket as he walked up to the machine, draping it over the back of a chair before he started dusting off the monitors, peering down and taking a few notes on their readings. Patryk had expected Paul to open up as soon as they were alone, but he could be patient. If Paul needed time, Patryk could allow for that. So, he stood near the doorway the whole time Paul looked over the instruments, letting the silence of the watchtower rest between them.

After several minutes, Paul closed his notebook, stowed it away, and walked back to the door.

“We’re done,” he said, “time to head back out.”

Well, maybe Patryk was a little impatient.

“What? No, come on,” he said, still standing in front of the door. He would not hold it closed, of course, he was not trying to trap Paul, but if he could put off leaving for a few more minutes, he would try to. “You have to tell me what’s going on with you first.”

Paul looked surprised, for a moment, before grim understanding came upon him and he stepped back, lowering himself into the one chair in the room. Patryk himself leaned back against the doorframe while he waited for Paul to speak. He was aware that he could hear the wind blowing outside, not especially strong but noticeable in the quiet seclusion of the watchtower.

Paul pulled his notebook back out and flipped it open. Between two pages, Patryk now saw, sat a white greeting card, although Paul had it facing away, so the front was hidden from view.

“When I was on my way to patrol this morning, Silje stopped me,” Paul said. “I was in a hurry, so I didn’t have time to talk, but she made me go into the kitchen and closed the door behind us.” He swallowed. “There was no one else there. I’ve never seen the kitchen so empty, it was like walking into a morgue. I kept looking at the oven and almost expecting dead bodies to get rolled out of it.” He opened up the card, still out of view of Patryk, and read its contents once more, as though still convincing himself that the words were really there, he hadn’t made them up.

“She told me she’s pregnant,” Paul said. “I’m going to be a dad.”

It took a moment for the news to sink in, but when it did, it hit Patryk all at once. All of the confusion, fear, and excitement came crashing into him at the same time, so that his mouth fell open and his eyes went wide.

“How?” he asked, knowing that it was a stupid question but unable to say anything else.

“How do you think?” Paul asked. He sounded annoyed, but Patryk noticed a slight quiver in his voice when he spoke. Paul ran a hand through his hair. “We really fucked up, Patryk.”

Patryk swallowed and glanced outside, to the trees swaying in the wind. He knew that the others were far down below them, but a part of him still worried over what would happen if they overheard.

“What’s she going to do about it?” he asked.

“She’s not sure yet,” Paul said. “But she said…” He shook his head, clearing his throat. “She said she’s thinking about keeping it.”

“How?” Patryk asked again, this time for real. Because he had no idea how someone could raise a child in this environment, where grown men always had to watch their own backs for fear that others might be plotting against them. There was no school built into the army, no other kids to play with. Would this child be raised by soldiers, trained to fight because there was no other possible future for it?

“She’s got a couple ideas,” Paul said. “She might send it away to live with friends of hers. She has a lot of connections in Norway, she could probably find someone up to the task.”

“And if she can’t?”

Paul stood from the chair, retrieving his jacket as he did so and sliding it back on. “Then, I guess we’ll just have to figure out how to raise a baby. How hard could it be?”

His tone was joking, but as he glanced towards Patryk, it became clear that they both knew the answer to that question.

“Well,” Patryk said, “if you ever need me, just let me know. I’m here for you, both of you, and I’ll help out however I can.”

Despite his still-present nervousness, Paul smiled.

“Thanks, Patryk,” he said, before opening the door and starting the walk back down to the forest floor.


	7. Greetings, Part 2

Patryk had never shot a gun before joining the Red Army. This was not uncommon among the soldiers, but it presented a problem if he was ever to go out on the field, a fact that he had been avoiding for some time now. Within his first couple of weeks, he had been shown how to shoot and manage a pistol, but for months afterwards he had become so consumed with strength training that he had failed to put much effort into improving his aim. That was why he now stood at the target range, trying his hardest to hit the target on the other end of the room.

The earmuffs he had on muffled most of the noise, but he disliked the feeling of the gun as it fired, still trying to knock him off balance despite his firm stance. He fired again and looked up to see if he had hit his mark. The newest bullet hole was nowhere near the bullseye, but he had managed to hit the target, which had to be some sort of improvement.

As he lined up to take the next shot, he was distracted by movement out of the corner of his eye. He turned, expecting to see another soldier, but felt his stomach seize up when he realized it was one of the cooks, still wearing his apron. From the way he panted, Patryk assumed he had run the whole way there.

The cook said something that Patryk could not hear, and it took him a moment to remember he was still wearings the earmuffs. He whipped them off, shaking out his hair as he did so.

“What was that?” he asked, now aware that he could hear the cook panting.

“Silje,” he said, still trying to catch his breath. “She… she wanted you to know… the baby…”

Patryk couldn’t wait for him to finish. He was already out of the room, putting away the gun as fast as he could without risking blowing off his own foot. He had already mapped out the way to the medical bay in his head, and in an instant he was running, sprinting down the halls he had finally started to consider home. The base was busy, as was typical for this time of day, but he managed to run without bumping into a single person, skirting to one side or the other in order to avoid several collisions. He didn’t have time to crash into anyone. He just had to get to Silje.

As he ran, he was again blown away by the haste with which the months had passed. By now, it was common knowledge around the base that Silje was having a baby, and most of the soldiers knew that Paul was the father. Despite that, Patryk had had very little time to actually talk to either of them about it, save when he was out on patrol with Paul or managed to bump into Silje in the hallway. In these brief encounters, he had managed to gather that they were both nervous, Silje understandably moreso but looking forward to the experience.

Patryk had to feel impressed with her for remaining so strong, despite what a surprise the whole thing had been. He had asked her once if she had ever pictured herself as a mother before, during one of the rare opportunities they had had to talk.

“Never seriously,” she’d said with a laugh. “When I was a little girl, I might have thought of it while I was playing with dolls, but by the time I was really thinking about my future, I was too focused on cooking to consider anything else. I thought about it again a couple of years ago, but I just assumed I was too old. I’d been with many people by then, so I just figured I’d missed my chance.”

“Were you disappointed at all?” Patryk asked.

“Maybe a little bit, but never enough for me to have any regrets,” Silje said. “Like I said, I never really considered motherhood that seriously. It’s why I’m glad I have friends who will be able to care for it. They’re good people, and they’ve always wanted a child. They’ll be like parents.”

And although it had been hard for Patryk to imagine a child growing up without its real parents, he had been glad that Silje had felt so confident in her plan, and glad that this child would always have a home where it was loved.

Love. The word rang out in Patryk’s mind as he whipped around the corner and saw Paul standing at the entrance to the medical bay. He looked like he had run even faster than Patryk, his hair a mess and his knees shaking. He was panting for breath, but when he turned and locked eyes with Patryk, his expression broke out into the widest smile Patryk had ever seen on the man’s face.

Yes. This child would always be loved.

“Have you seen her yet?” Patryk asked as he crossed the remaining space between them. “How is she?”

“They haven’t let me in, yet,” Paul admitted, stepping back and looking towards the door as if willing it to open. “A doctor came out a minute ago and said to wait out here. So I guess that’s what I’m going to do for now.”

“Oh,” Patryk said, a little bit disappointed. He had hoped to get to talk to Silje at least once more before the whole thing was finished. “So you’re just going to wait? What about your duties?”

“Fuck ‘em,” Paul said, his tone surprising Patryk so much that he couldn’t help but laugh at it. Paul, in turn, started to laugh as well, and they both sunk down onto the floor against the wall, since there weren’t any chairs around to wait in. This was not a waiting room, even, but they were ready to turn it into one for as long as they needed it.

Patryk was the first to speak up.

“I have to ask… what are you feeling right now?”

Paul shook his head, laughing once more before he could get out an answer.

“Oh god, what am I not feeling right now?” he said. “I’m happy. I’m excited to get to meet this kid. I’m glad that Silje’s been okay so far. I’m a little bit worried for her, but also confident that she’ll be alright. I’m proud, too. Really proud. And I’m nervous.” He chuckled. “No, I’m scared. But it’s alright, because I’m still really happy.” He turned to Patryk, his face pink with a sort of excited glow about it. “What about you?”

“I’m good,” Patryk said. “Excited, also. Glad that I get to be here, on the other side of this concrete wall, really feel like I’m able to show my support.”

“And the fact that we’re sitting on the floor adds that touch of class to the whole thing, doesn’t it?” Paul said.

“Exactly.”

After that, they fell into silence, punctuated only by quick remarks or the occasional clomping of heavy boots as a soldier walked up the hallway. Most of them didn’t stop to ask why Paul and Patryk were sitting on the floor together, but a couple did, and Patryk was all too excited to tell them that Silje was having her baby. In this way, the news was passed around the base, and soon enough most of the soldiers had some inkling of what was going on in the medical bay, although most paid it little mind and went about their days as normal.

A small handful, though, thought it was a good time to stop by and catch up with Paul and Patryk.

Maxim appeared suddenly, filling the hallway with his presence before Patryk had time to gather what was going on. He was followed by a group of several other soldiers, some of them calm, others someone nervous. Patryk thought he saw a shorter figure among them before Maxim stepped forward and they all disappeared behind his imposing figure.

“Heard the news,” he said, voice calm and flat. Something about him reminded Patryk of a dead fish. “Must be exciting, huh, Paul?”

Patryk glanced over, and was shocked to see the stony expression on Paul’s face. The man who had broken into a smile and joked with him just minutes ago was gone, replaced with a soldier looking into the eyes of his enemy.

“I suppose,” Paul said.

“Uh-huh,” Maxim said. “So I guess you’re just waiting out here to find out if it has your eyebrows, right?”

Paul said nothing. Patryk wanted to retort, but he doubted there was much he could say at this point that would make things any better for Paul.

And now Maxim leaned down, crouching as close to Paul as he could.

“Listen,” he said. “I know what’s going on. I know why you did it. You might have been able to convince a few people with this shtick, but I know the truth. And I  _also_  know that you’re only able to sit out here because you know the boss could never discharge his darling son for having a kid in the middle of a war.”

Something dark flashed through Paul’s eyes, and he opened his mouth like he was preparing a retort. The words died on his lips, though, when the door swung open and a doctor stepped out into the crowded hall. He took a moment to scan over all of the faces before he finally landed on Paul, still sitting against the wall, and turned to him. Paul stood immediately, and Patryk noticed that the tremble in his knee was back.

“Paul?” the doctor said.

“Yes?” His voice sounded hoarse all of a sudden, as though he had gone for years without using it instead of several seconds.

“Silje and the boy both made it through just fine. Congratulations. They’re ready to see you now, if you’d like.”

Paul did not move, though, apparently frozen in place. He put a hand to his face, his voice coming out in wonder, “I have a son.” He took a step forward, stopped, and glanced back to his friend. “Can Patryk come in, too?”

“No, I’m sorry,” the doctor said. “We can only allow one visitor in at a time, I hope you understand.”

“Oh.” He looked back once more, meeting Patryk’s gaze. “Sorry. I’ll try not to be in for too long.”

“Oh no, don’t worry about it,” Patryk said, waving him off. “Go meet your son.”

That word seemed to spark something in Paul, and just like that he bolted into the wing, not even waiting for the doctor to show him the way. He didn’t say anything as he went inside, so as soon as the door shut the hallway was met with an uncomfortable silence. Maxim was still crouched down, but he stood up straight once the excitement was over, seeming to tower over Patryk a great deal now. Patryk wanted to shrink back, but he refused to let himself, although he could not manage to look up into Maxim’s eyes.

“It doesn’t have to be like this, Patryk,” Maxim said. “I know he’s been nice to you so far, but he is using you, and he will have to throw you away at some point.” He kneeled down once more. “I admit, I might have… misjudged him, at first, and that was my fault. He’s probably not going to do all that I accused him of, so I’m sorry if that put you off a bit, I really was just trying to look after you.” He sighed. “And that’s what I’m trying to do again, Patryk. I know you think he’s your friend, but he’s using you. He’s made a shield out of you, but if this keeps up, soon enough he won’t need you anymore and you’ll get tossed aside. Is that really what you want?”

Patryk was going to respond, but then he took a moment to think and realized that being Paul’s shield was not the most unpleasant image he’d ever had of himself. He like to imagine himself protecting Paul, shielding him from harm, should Paul ever need him for that. It gave him a purpose.

“You need to stop,” he said, standing up, “and leave us alone.”

Something in Maxim changed at that moment. The guise of friendliness fell away, and something much darker, more sinister stepped into the light. He took a step forward, his footstep the only sound amid the sudden hush that had settled over the hallway.

“So, you’ve put yourself with the whore and the faggot.” Maxim’s voice was quiet. It sent a horrified chill up Patryk’s spine, and he instinctively stepped back, pushing himself up against the wall. “I wanted to help you, Patryk, I really did. I saw from your first day that you had potential, and I’ve done nothing but tried to help you reach that ever since. But apparently there’s nothing I can do.”

Maxim placed one hand against the wall next to Patryk’s head. Out of nowhere, Patryk felt a touch on his hip. He looked down and saw that Maxim’s hand there, fingers resting against the top of his pants. Patryk wanted to throw up, he wanted to get away, but he found that he couldn’t move, eyes locked on the place where Maxim was touching him.

“I was always honest with you, Patryk.” Maxim was whispering now, his voice stroking Patryk’s ear as he talked. “That’s the one thing that should have set me apart from those two, I never once lied to you about anything.” Patryk jumped as the grip on his hip strengthened. Maxim was only a couple inches taller than him, but now he seemed massive in Patryk’s eyes. “There is so much you don’t know about either of them, Patryk, so many ways they’ve tricked you and you don’t even realize. It’s not just Paul. Both of them, Silje too, have been playing you for a fool this whole time.”

“N… n- no…” Patryk fought to find his voice, but he was still frozen, stuck between the wall and Maxim’s broad chest. He could feel Maxim’s fingers digging into his hip, holding him in place, but just as it seemed Maxim was going to say something else the door again swung open.

Maxim’s hand disappeared. He stepped away from the wall, and Patryk was finally able to catch a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

The same doctor stood in the doorway, gaze neutral as he looked over the scene. “Patryk,” he said, “Silje said that she wanted to see you as well.”

“Really?” Patryk’s voice came back all at once, so fast that he couldn’t even think his words through as he said them. “But what about the one visitor rule?”

“She insisted,” the doctor said, and that said enough on its own.

Patryk did not glance back at Maxim as he dashed inside, so grateful to be out of the crowded hallway and into the cool white office. They walked down another hallway, but this one seemed wider somehow, and better lit. The doctor motioned forward.

“First door on the right,” he said.

Patryk could not remember walking from that spot to the room, but then he was turning the door handle and stepping into the bright room, and just beyond a set of monitors, sitting in the green hospital bed, was Silje, holding a tightly wrapped bundle in her arms. Paul was standing on the other side of the bed, resting one hand on it without actually leaning on the mattress.

Something in Patryk’s chest clenched, and it squeezed a laugh out of him.

“Glad to see that idiot was good for something,” Silje said. Her voice lacked its usual energy, but it still carried a bite to it that was so perfectly Silje, it made Patryk want to laugh again. “He got you out of that mess before anything happened, didn’t he?”

Patryk’s mind flashed back to Maxim’s hand holding him there, refusing to let go, but he pushed it back before he could think about it too much. He didn’t want to ruin this moment.

“Yeah, yeah,” he said. “I’m totally fine, he, uh, showed up at a good time.” He stepped forward, looking down at the bundle. It was smaller than he had expected, the size emphasized by Silje’s burly arms and wide chest. Still, she held it gently, and it reminded him of something he had read about elephants once, how they were powerful enough to lift entire logs but had also been seen picking dainty flowers. The way she held that bundle in her arms, it was as if she was holding the most precious flower in the world.

“His name is Tord,” Paul blurted out. His face was flushed, and Patryk noticed now that he kept fidgeting, his fingers twisting into the bedsheets.

“Oh. Well, hi Tord,” Patryk said. Silje angled the bundle up a bit more, and at last Patryk could see the tiny red face, smaller than he had imagined, with deep creases that made him look like he was already frustrated with the lot of them. Even now, brand new to the world, he was his mother’s son. “Who picked the name?”

“I did,” Silje said. “It’s a strong name, I think it suits him well.”

Paul nodded, having had his fill on conversation. Silje now turned to him, a serious look back in her eyes.

“You’ve been playing with the sheets ever since you walked in here,” she said. “If you want to hold him, all you have to do is ask.”

Paul’s fidgeting stopped altogether and he raised his hands up off the bed, while at the same time the blush on his cheeks turned an even deeper shade of red.

“C- can I?” he stammered out. Part of Patryk feared that he might collapse on the spot, but Silje must not have shared the feeling, as she sat up and handed the baby to Paul, who took Tord in both arms, taking care to support his head as he did so.

Standing on the opposite side of the bed, Patryk could not to begin to imagine what Paul was feeling right then, especially given that his own emotions were so extreme and disorganized for the time being. He could see hints, though, at what might have been going on in Paul’s mind. He held the bundle close against his chest, holding it firmly without actually squeezing, and a trembling smile crept onto his face as he looked down at the sleeping baby. His face turned redder still, and just like that he was crying, tears running down his face without interruption since he didn’t have a way to wipe them off.

“H- hey, Tord,” he choked out, voice caught on his tears. “It’s great to finally meet you. I’m Paul.”

Patryk felt himself start to tear up at that point, but he flicked them away, watching as Paul introduced himself to his son. Silje was looking on as well, still tired, but content, her eyes focused on the bundle held so securely in Paul’s arms. It occurred to Patryk, then, that they were nothing like any new parents he had ever seen before. There were no kisses between them, no gentle hugs to celebrate what Silje had done. There were simply no romantic feelings between these two, although Patryk suspected that they might have loved one another some other way.

But the love they had for their child, there was no mistaking that, and as the three gathered around to greet Tord into the world, Patryk couldn’t help but feel lucky to get to share this moment with them, As the family introduced themselves to each other for the first time.


	8. Notes, Part 2

Paul was almost certain that they did something to make the school a little bit uglier every time he returned. The bluish-gray walls must have aged some fifteen years since he had been there the day before, the chips in the paint more numerous now and the water stains more noticeable beneath the dark windows. It reminded him of some dreary scene in a movie.

The one redeemable quality of the scene was Patryk standing in front of the building, a point of light that shone out and distracted Paul from the gloomy backdrop of the school. He smiled and waved as Paul approached, and Paul waved back, gratitude sweeping over him even with nerves tingling beneath his skin.

“You’re here,” he said once they were within earshot of each other. Patryk laughed.

“Of course I am,” he said. “Promised I would be, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, but…” Paul stopped before the words could slip out. “I’m just really glad that you’re here. Thank you.”

“Hey, no problem,” Patryk said, slipping his hands into the pockets of his gray jacket. “I’d do anything for you two.”

Paul felt his face heat up and he looked away, hoping Patryk hadn’t seen.

“I, uh, I called ahead,” he said. “Just to let Bing know that we’re coming. He’s probably waiting for us now.”

“Oh, great,” Patryk said. “We should head in, then, don’t want to keep him waiting.”

“Yeah,” Paul said, the sound of his voice almost failing to reach his own ears, although somehow they got to Patryk’s just fine, as he nodded in affirmation. He then took the lead as they ascended the concrete steps of the elementary school, but allowed Paul to go ahead and press the buzzer when they reached the front doors. Something about the familiarity of the action giving him comfort despite his tense nerves, and when the lock buzzed and he pulled open the door, he held it open for Patryk before they both slipped inside.

The school hallways looked the same as it always did, different paintings but familiar messy brushstrokes, posters advertising clubs and after school activities. The school was not completely abandoned yet, but there were a few kids still milling around, and something about the balance struck Paul as just right, as it gave a little bit of life to the school without presenting him with an obstacle course to maneuver.

They walked side by side up the hall, and when they arrived at Tord’s classroom door Paul stepped forward, knuckle raised to knock. At the last moment, though, he backed down, stepping away from the door and looking to Patryk.

“You okay?” Patryk asked.

Paul nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “I just know that I have to do this, but…” He wasn’t sure if he was scared or having seconds thoughts or something else entirely, so he shrugged and hoped that Patryk could understand.

Patryk nodded, signaling that, at the very least, he was trying to

“Do you want me to knock?” he asked. Paul shook his head. “Is there anything you do what me to do?”

Paul thought for a moment, tilting his head to the side as he did so.

“Can you just tell me it’s going to be okay?” he asked. It seemed like a silly request, but he had a feeling that hearing it out of Patryk’s mouth might help in ways he could not entirely explain but still trusted to work.

Patryk smiled, soft and reassuring.

“It’s all going to be alright,” he said. “You’re going to go in there and talk out these problems, and I’m going to be next to you the whole way.”

Paul’s heart thumped in his chest, but it was good and made him smile.

“Thanks, Patryk,” he said. Then he turned back, raised his fist, and rapped his knuckles against the wooden door, listening as the hollow sound echoed into the classroom beyond.

There was a beat. Then, from the other side, he heard Bing’s voice, “Come in.” Paul pulled the door open and stepped inside, letting Patryk follow just behind.

The last time Paul had been in this room, he had had no time to look around before he collided with Bing and smashed that day’s hopes into a fine dust. Now, he paused in the doorway, giving himself the briefest moment to sweep his gaze across the room and gather as much information in that one movement as he could. There were several circular tables scattered around the room, each one with five miniature chairs pulled up to them, far too small for an adult but just the right size for a child slightly taller than Tord. The whiteboard to Paul’s right was still decorated with from the day’s class, with several bizarre diagrams that must have come out of some sort of science lesson. To his left, on the nearest wall, was a row of cubbies and hooks, on which hung one lonely backpack, decorated with strips of peeling duct tape.

And, across from them, in front of the windows, was Bing’s desk, with Bing on one side of it and Tord sitting on the other. Tord lit up at the sight of Paul and Patryk in the room, and before anyone could say anything he jumped up and ran to greet them, grabbing both of their hands at once and starting to tug them back to the desk.

“Paul, you brought Patryk, too,” he said, as though Paul had somehow missed that fact. “I didn’t know you were gonna do that.”

“Yeah, I’m here,” Patryk said. Tord directed him to sit in one of the small chairs that had been pulled up to the desk, and then took the other one for himself, leaving Paul to borrow a chair from one of the tables. It squeaked when he lifted it up and set it back down again, so he tried not to make any more noise as he finally sat down on Tord’s left, so that the boy sat in between the two adults.

“Thank you, Bing,” Paul started, at last looking the teacher in the eye and just trying his best not to shrink away. Out of the corner of his eye, he was aware that Patryk was watching him, offering him a quick, oddly familiar hand signal to indicate he was doing well.”We’re grateful to you for staying late like this, it means a lot to us.”

“Glad to hear it,” Bing said. His tone did not match his words, but he did not seem to be angry with Paul, which was a good sign. “Mind introducing me to your partner? I don’t think we’ve met.”

“Oh, uh, Patryk… He’s not my partner,” Paul said, feeling his face heat up at the suggestion. He saw movement again out of the corner of his eye, but this time he could not manage to glance over and see what Patryk was doing, no matter how strong his curiosity. “He’s just my old colleague, a friend of the family. That’s, uh, that’s all.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” Patryk said cheerfully, apparently unfazed by the question.

Paul felt a moment of envy for Patryk’s ability to remain so cool and level-headed, but he pushed past it, focused instead on his main goal.

He sat up straight again, hoping that the flush in his cheeks was fading. “I was hoping we could talk about Tord’s problems in class,” he said, grateful that his voice came out clearly this time. “I know that we already talked once about this, but he mentioned a few things to Patryk the other night that had me concerned.”

“Nothing to do with your teaching style, though,” Patryk interjected. He motioned down to Tord, who had spent the meeting so far watching whichever adult happened to be speaking at that moment. “Tord told me that he likes your lessons. Right, Tord?”

“Yeah, the science stuff is cool,” Tord said. He pointed to the whiteboard, the diagrams still impenetrable to Paul, given his little understanding of science in general. “I liked learning about cells and stuff. And robots.”

“Yeah,” Paul said, trying to hop back onto the conversation. Patryk had taken it in a direction he had not expected, but he could understand why it was important to bring up. They wanted Bing on their side for this. “The class is great. It’s just, Tord’s been having some problems with the other students, I think, and we were hoping we could figure out how to deal with that.”

“Yes,” Bing said, shifting in his chair and leaning forward. “There have been a few  _incidents_  in class, haven’t there, Tord?”

Tord, who had before this been sitting upright the entire time, eyes alert and expression open, now shrunk, right before Paul’s eyes. He twisted his legs together, pulled his arms tight against his body, and looked down at his shoes, the laces of which were too long and always had to be triple-knotted. He made a small noise, but Paul had no idea whether or not it was a response to Bing’s question, and then said nothing more.

“Tord?” Paul said, reaching forward and putting a hand on his son’s shoulder. His brow was knit with concern, his mind running through every possible thing that could have gone wrong that day. Tord just shook his head and refused to look up.

“Tord tried to bite another student in class today,” Bing said. Paul’s gaze shot up, his mouth opening but words failing to come to him. “Luckily, I was able to pull them apart in time, but I hope you understand that this is a very serious matter that we cannot just ignore.”

“R- right,” Paul said. His head was spinning. Tord still wasn’t looking at him, so he pulled his hand away and placed it in his lap, trying to understand what Bing was telling him without thinking about it too much.

“It’s a… surprise to hear that,” Patryk said. Paul might not have used to mild a word, but then, he was grateful that Patryk was the one doing the speaking for them. “Can you tell us what happened exactly?”

“I wouldn’t say it’s much of a surprise,” Bing said, but he motioned forward. “Tord can tell you better than I what happened. Can’t you, Tord?”

Tord started to unfurl his legs from each other, although his arms stayed pinned to his sides.

“Eduardo started it,” he said. “I was just trying to do my work, but then he started being all annoying again, like he just kept talking, so I told him to shut up. He didn’t though, and then Jon and Mark started getting annoying, too, and I was just trying to get my work done. And then I got up to get a pencil from my backpack, and Mark started following me, so I turned around and pushed him. And I guess he tripped, because he kind of stumbled back, so then he got mad even though it was an accident. And he came up, and he was going to hit me!” He seemed scared now, even Paul could see it, but he didn’t dare to interrupt until Tord was done. “So I told him to get away from me, and I… I…”

Tord fell silent. Patryk watched him a moment longer before he turned to Bing, the expression on his face fixed and neutral.

“Did you see this happen?” he asked.

“Most of it,” Bing said. “I was aware at the beginning that there was some commotion on Tord’s side of the room, but I was helping another student and didn’t have a chance to step in. I saw them just as Tord shoved Mark, and then I was able to get in between them just before things went any further.” He sat back in his chair, his eyes moving between the three people sitting in front of him. “I talked to Mark afterwards. He said that he didn’t trip, but Tord pushed him hard enough that he almost lost his balance. As he was trying to stand back upright, that’s when Tord advanced on him.”

“Are you sure he’s telling the truth, though?” Paul said, finally finding his voice. He didn’t look at Patryk, afraid of what he might see if he turned to the side. “I mean, he’s a kid. They lie to keep themselves out of trouble. Hell, even adults do that. How do you know he’s not trying to cover up the fact that he was actually trying to start a fight?”

“I can’t know,” Bing said, the firmness of his tone making Paul stop dead in his tracks. He looked at each of the three in turn as he spoke, so that they all got a sense of how serious he was about this. “I do know, though, that Tord was the only one to make things physical. Even if there had not been the threat of further violence, he still pushed another classmate, which is a serious problem all on its own and one that we may want to address separately at a later date. The real problem that I want us to focus on right now is that Tord has no concept of how to handle his emotions in a healthy way.” Bing’s eyes at last stopped roving and locked onto Paul, who swallowed and try to ignore the rising heat at the back of his neck. “Is this a problem you’ve noticed at home?”

Paul didn’t want to speak. He wanted to be anywhere but here, in this room, facing this man. He tried to talk, but his brain was caught, the words  _get out get out get out_  replacing whatever thoughts he was trying to conjure up.

“Tord does have some trouble expressing himself sometimes.” Paul snapped his head up at the sound of Patryk’s voice, all at once surprised and grateful to hear someone else answering the question. “It’s not something we’ve talked about much at all, but I’ve noticed it, and I think Paul has as well. Do you think that’s what the problem is?”

“Something like it,” Bing said. He seemed more at ease when he talked to Patryk, which stung Paul, even when it was somewhat warranted. “It’s the kind of skill that is taught to some extent at school, but is more often picked up at home, usually by children observing their parents.” Paul tried to ignore the way his thoughts twisted the statement into an accusation, focusing instead on the exact words Bing was saying. It was hard, though, not to take it personally, knowing that Bing must have meant it that way, at least to some extent.

“Tord hasn’t always had the most stable home life,” he said, grateful that his thoughts came unstuck and allowed him to participate once more. “We had to move around a lot when he was younger, looking for work, you know. It was stressful, for both of us.”

For the first time, a look of understanding seemed to flash through Bing’s gaze, but it vanished so quickly that Paul thought he might have imagined it. “That is hard for a child to grow up with. However, it does not excuse Tord’s behavior today, nor the countless other incidents he’s had in my classroom.” He sighed. “If this continues, there  _will_  be serious consequences. You understand that, don’t you, Paul?”

“Of course I do.” He didn’t mean to bite the words out, but that was how they came. He glanced towards Patryk, who gave him the smallest shrug and directed him to look back at Bing.

“Good,” he was saying. “I can make arrangements for him to meet with the school counselor once a week during recess, if he’d like, to talk about ways to deal with his feelings that aren’t a danger to the other students. Would that be alright with you, Tord?”

Tord seemed surprised to have been addressed again, after so long of being ignored while the adults talked around him, so it took him a moment to respond.

“Yeah, that’s fine,” he said, once he had found his voice.

Bing smiled. “I’m glad to hear it. So, if there was nothing else you wanted to talk about…”

“Uh, there was one thing,” Paul said before Bing could stand up. He glanced to Patryk for approval, and the slight nod he received gave him a burst of strength to keep going. “I know that you said Tord is the one who always turns things physical, and I understand that that is a serious problem we need to address. But, I also think there might be a problem with some of the other students as well.”

“A problem?” Bing asked. His eyes were narrowed, although Paul was unsure what that meant.

“Tord told us the other day that, um…” Paul looked to Patryk again.

“He made it sound like the other students gang up on him,” Patryk said. “Right, Tord?”

Tord was again surprised to be addressed directly, but this time the attention made him shrink, and he looked at no one but Patryk as he spoke. “They don’t like me,” he said. The three adults waited for clarification, but that seemed to be all Tord had to offer, as after a moment he shrunk down further and turned to stare at his knees.

“You said they exclude you from things, didn’t you?” Patryk asked. “And they say things that make you feel bad?”

Tord nodded, just a tiny movement that Paul almost missed.

“From your story, it does sound like the other kids might have been antagonizing him when he lashed out,” Patryk said. “If that’s the case, then it’s going to take a change from the other students as well if we want things to get better for Tord.”

Bing had leaned forward while Patryk spoke, so that now his clasped hands rested in front of his mouth. He sat back, sighing with the movement and looking up to the ceiling.

“I know how hard it can be to hear things like this,” he said. “The other children might be a part of the problem, and I will make some effort to keep them separated from Tord for the rest of the year. But you have to understand, I am very vigilant in my classroom, never let anything get by me, and I’ve simply never seen that sort of behavior from any of them. I really do it simply comes down to Tord and his inability to talk through his problems with the others.”

“How can you know for sure, though?” Paul asked. He didn’t like Bing’s tone, as though he was trying to draw the conversation to a close already, before they had even solved the real problem at hand. “You’ve had Tord in your class all year, you should know by now that he wouldn’t lie about this kind of thing. If the other students really are bullying him, then it’s only going to get worse until  _you_  step up and do something.” He scooted forward on his seat, feeling desperate now. “It’s not all Tord’s fault that he’s having trouble. He shouldn’t be the only one getting in trouble for all of this.”

Bing looked down and met Patryk’s eyes. His gaze was like steel, and when he spoke, his voice was hard as stone. “He’s not getting in trouble, Paul. He’s getting help,” he said. Paul wanted to shrink away, but he found that he couldn’t, holding eye contact even as Bing’s voice cut sharper. “And you should be grateful for it, both of you should be, because if this goes on any longer it  _will_ result in serious consequences.”

Expelled. Tord was on the verge of being expelled. The word never came out of any of their mouths, but Paul was certain he could hear it ringing through the room, bouncing off the walls and reverberating through his bones. Some painful mixture of anger and fear surged up into him, heating his cheeks as it did so, and he felt something ugly bubbling up deep inside of him. He had worked so hard to get them here, to a city where Tord could go to a good school and make friends and be a normal kid and  _be happy_. He had sacrificed so much and fought so hard and struggled and struggled for years without friends or family or sometimes even a home. He was beyond tired. He wanted a break. But before that he just wanted Tord to be happy.

So why  _the hell_  could life not afford him that.

He felt something tearing out of him as he opened his mouth.

“ _I’m_ —”

“Paul.”

Patryk’s voice was like a brick wall. It slammed into Paul, and in his confusion he had to turn and just stare at Patryk, who stared back at him with an expression firm, but not angry. Patryk stood up.

“Thank you for having us,” he said to Bing, extending a hand over the desk. Bing had still been watching Paul, but he turned to Patryk and took his hand without saying a word. “We appreciate everything you do for Tord, and we’re very hopeful that this counselor can help with some of his difficulties. Hope you have a nice night.” He pulled back his hand and then offered it to Tord, who took it and let Patryk help him stand, then kept holding on as Patryk started to walk to the door, grabbing Tord’s backpack and handing it to him on the way. Paul, realizing that he did not want to be left behind, stood up and followed the others, not turning back say goodbye to Bing. Bing as well said nothing, and the trio left the classroom in silence.

They had still said nothing when they got outside of the school building, but Tord raised his free hand and offered it to Paul, who hesitated for a moment before he took it, relaxing with the familiar feeling of his son’s small fingers clasped in his own.

It wasn’t until they had walked down the steps and away form the school that Paul finally forced himself to look up to Patryk, at the exact same moment that Patryk did the same. Their eyes met, but Paul refused to let himself look away, holding his gaze there while Patryk looked back.

“Thank you,” Paul said. They were the only words he had.

“Any time,” Patryk said. “Do you want a ride home? I parked my car a few blocks away, I could drop you off if you’d like.”

“Yes!” Tord said, startling them both. Patryk broke out into a laugh, and Paul found that he had to do the same, even with the heavy feeling still sitting in his chest. Laughter could not get rid of it, but it helped to break it up a bit.

“Only if it’s not too much of a bother, though,” Paul said. “You’ve done so much already.”

“It’s not a bother at all,” Patryk said. Still holding one of Tord’s hands, he led them down the street, passing houses and apartments on the way. Before they reached the car, they walked by a park, more a yard than anything else, and Patryk stopped. Paul glanced in, but before he had any idea why they had stopped, Patryk was pulling them in. Tord pulled away both of his hands as they walked inside, already distracted by the sights of the park. It was no bigger than a block, mostly grass with a single park bench underneath a low-hanging tree, but there was a small play structure that he was drawn to. Before he took another step, though, he turned back to Paul, the question in his eyes. Paul looked to Patryk.

“If you have to get home soon, I understand,” Patryk said. “But I thought it might be nice for us to just sit for a minute.”

Paul knew that there was work for him to do at home, but at that moment, nothing sounded better than taking a break from everything to sit in a tiny little scrap of a park.

“Sounds perfect,” he said, and he settled onto the bench, letting Patryk follow at his own pace. Tord stayed standing, and he looked back at Paul once they were settled, feet fixed to the ground. Paul nodded at him once, and Tord dropped his backpack and bolted towards the slide, almost tripping in his haste but managing to catch himself and keep running.

“Ball of sunshine,” Patryk said, earning a chuckle from Paul. Trt as he might, though, he could not keep up a cheery demeanor, and he felt his mood sinking low again as he thought back on how the meeting had went.

“He didn’t believe us,” he said.

“No, he didn’t,” Patryk said.

“I don’t know if this plan is going to fix anything.”

“It might help. It might not.”

Paul ruffled a hand through his hair. He knew that he had a problem with fixating on almosts, but the fact of the matter was that, if he had been alone, he would have gotten himself into even deeper trouble with Bing than he already was. The guilt and shamed welled up inside of him again, as well as a touch of self-pity, just for kicks. He wanted to be able to appreciate the scene of a pleasantly warm afternoon as it started to melt into evening, but all he could think about was that classroom, with its undersized chairs and indecipherable marks on the whiteboard.

He felt a touch on his knee. He looked there first, to where Patryk’s hand now lay clasped, then up to Patryk’s face, rosy in the sunlight. His stomach flipped uncomfortably, trying to warn him that this person was sitting much closer to him than people normally did and was actively  _touching_  him, but he did his best to ignore it. Patryk had done so much for them already, if this is how he wanted to sit, then Paul could endure it.

“I’m proud of you for getting through that,” Patryk said. “I know that you were nervous, but you did your best.”

Paul snorted. “And I would have ruined all of it if you hadn’t been there.” He glanced up right as Tord was throwing himself down the slide again, much too focused on his play to notice anything they were talking about. “It’s my fault, you know. Why he doesn’t know how to handle his emotions, it’s because I was never a good role model for him.” He sighed. “Instead of trying to fix my mistakes and help him, though, all I ever did was try to cover them up. And now he might get expelled because of it.”

“Don’t say that. It’s not your fault.”

“It is, Patryk.” Paul rubbed at his eyes, grateful that he was too tired for them to even start watering. He hasn’t cried in so many years, it was hard for him to remember the last time he had. “It’s not like I didn’t try. I tried so damn hard, but I still failed him. I just wasn’t mean for this.”

Patryk said nothing but took slow, deep breaths, and Paul found himself pressured to imitate them, relaxing into the steady breathing pattern and letting himself lean back against the bench, unaware that he had started to curl forward in the first place.

“The way I see it,” Patryk said once Paul was somewhat less tense, “you were all alone for seven years. You didn’t have anyone to go to for help or support, not even for the simple things. So you just had to make due with what you had, doing the best that you could. And, maybe what you didn’t wasn’t always perfect, but it was the best you could do with what you knew and the skills you had. And honestly, I don’t think it’s possible for anybody to do better than that. I couldn’t have. Hell, I doubt Silje would be able to either.”

“Maybe,” Paul said, trying not to wince as she reappeared in his mind. “But we all know that her best would be better than mine.”

Patryk gave his knee a squeeze in what Paul assumed was supposed to be a comforting gesture, although the feeling still made his stomach clench. He knew that Patryk was trying to be understanding, and he was grateful for that, but he still felt a wave of relief when Patryk finally let go to check his phone.

“I don’t know if we can say that for certain,” Patryk said. Before Paul could argue, he went on, “And I have to get going soon, but I’d like to have a chance to convince you that you’ve done a good job. So how do you feel about dinner tomorrow?”

“At your apartment?” Paul asked. He had already convinced himself that it was a one-time thing and that getting comfortable there had been a mistake, so the thought of going back made his heart flutter in excitement.

“Exactly,” Patryk said. He glanced away from Paul, and for a moment he seemed to be looking at Tord, but when Paul tracked his gaze he realized it was pointed somewhere off in the distance, towards where the sun was just starting to inch towards the horizon. The light of it stained Patryk’s cheeks pink. “And, uh, I was thinking this time,” he looked back to Paul, “it could be just the two of us?”

Paul’s heart skipped a beat. He was aware of a voice in his head insisting that this was a bad idea, warning him to shut down, clam up, take Tord home and never step outside of their apartment again. But he figured it was just because he had never been away from Tord for an evening, unless work demanded it. In all of the years they had been running, not once had he gone to dinner with a friend, partially because he had been nervous to leave Tord, but also because he had not had any friends up until reconnecting with Patryk. Much as he disagreed with Patryk’s ideas about his competency as a parent, he had to admit that it had been lonely to go so long without anyone to turn to, and he did not want to lose what he had with Patryk just because of some silly voice in the back of his head warning him off.

“Yeah,” he said. “We could do that. There are some neighbors who I’ve asked to look after Tord before, I’m sure they could watch him for an evening.”

Patryk smiled, and it was like all of the light in the world had settled on this one man, joy reflecting off of him and dazzling Paul with its brightness.

“I can’t wait.” It was all Patryk said before they finally stood up off the bench and went to fetch Tord from the monkey bars, the evening sun casting long shadows across the park.


	9. Problems

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings: panic attacks, violence, sexual assault.

“You’ll finish all of your homework before bed, right?” Paul asked. He felt his phone buzz a second time, but he did not pull it out just yet, instead looking down at Tord, who lay sprawled out with a book. It was one of those mangas that he would come home with occasionally. Paul had no idea where they came from, and by now he thought it far too late to start asking.

“Yeah, I already did most of it at school,” Tord said. He didn’t look away from his book as he talked, a bored expression on his face. Paul couldn’t tell whether it was from the story or the conversation.

“And when Dan and Ruth come by to check on you, you’ll let them in?” he asked. He had figured out by now that Tord was fine staying at home by himself for several hours, and probably preferred it to letting other people into their apartment, which could be described as cluttered at the best of times. He himself had been trying harder to keep it clean lately, but it was hard to find the time or motivation to do a thorough sweep of the place.

“Yes, I will.”

Paul had meant to make a to-do list for Tord, but he had run out of time while trying to get himself ready to go, and now he wracked his brain for anything either of them might have been forgetting. He didn’t like just leaving, something about the idea still felt off to him.

“And you’ll brush your teeth before bed?” he asked.

“Paul, come on,” Tord said, slamming his book closed. The cartoon girls on the cover beamed up into the room, unoffended by the mess that was their apartment. “I’ve been by myself plenty of times before, I know what I’m doing.”

“I know, I know,” Paul said, grateful and guilty that Tord was so used to looking after himself by now. Of course, every time he had left prior, it had been for the sake of work. “You’re always okay when I leave, I know that. I just…” Felt that it was irresponsible to leave for something so frivolous? Selfish to not insist that he bring Tord along as well? Either one was possible, even probable, but he could get neither out of his throat, and his attempts to communicate were reduced to a helpless expression and several confused hand gestures.

Tord stared for a moment, then grumbled and reopened his book. “Just stop being so nervous. Patryk’s never bitten your head off before, so stop acting like that’s what he’ll do tonight and you’ll be fine.”

Paul could not just turn off his nerves, though, and Tord’s suggestion only made his heart pound and back of his neck heat up. Up until now, all of his interactions with Patryk had involved Tord acting as a sort of buffer in between them, a constant distraction if Paul ever needed him. He felt unprepared for, and almost certain to fail, any extended time spent just between the two of them. It was easy for his brain to generate a list of every single way the evening could go wrong, and without even going into detail about the contents, the sheer length of it threatened to turn him into a puddle.

He was doubting himself. He’d been doing it all day, but now it resurfaced with greater force, hot and bitter and biting, and he had to wonder if it had been a mistake to accept Patryk’s invitation.

“Hey, Paul.” Tord’s voice refocused him on the present, although it did not manage to calm his pounding heart. “It’s going to be okay. Patryk’s cool, he won’t let you mess it up too badly.”

Although Paul could still feel his heart beating against his ribs, he could understand what Tord was trying to say, and he knew that his son was trying to be reassuring. And, in a way, it worked. Patryk, by this point, knew that Paul had problems with anxiety, and had so far presented himself as a gracious and able host, better at conversation than Paul himself had ever managed to be, even in his life before the Red Army. Now, he had to trust that Patryk knew what he was doing by inviting Paul alone, and also commit to matching Patryk’s effort in making this an enjoyable evening.

He sighed, not out the door yet but already exhausted.

His phone buzzed again, and he jumped. He pulled it out of his pocket and saw that Patryk had arrived and had been waiting outside for two minutes already.

“Right,” he said, opening the front door and stepping out. “Go to sleep at a reasonable hour. I’ll call you when I’m on my way back, so keep the phone by your bed. Don’t do anything bad. I’ll see you later, Tord.”

“Bye, Paul.”

Paul took one more moment to look at where Tord lay on the floor before he stepped out fully and closed the door behind him, then bolted for the stairs. His thoughts were still cluttered as he raced down several flights and out the door, so that he had no idea what he was to say when he spotted Patryk, waving from inside his car. Paul slowed down his pace and tried to walk up calmly, although he was aware that his fingers were shaking when he opened the car door and slid inside.

“Hey,” he said, and he was grateful to find that his voice sounded almost normal.

“Hey, you made it,” Patryk said. He started to fiddle with some of the buttons on the dashboard, not starting the car immediately. “Tord’s good, then?”

“Yeah, he’ll be fine,” Paul said. He kept reminding himself to relax, but his shoulders crept upwards and his heart was thudding and all he could do was try to breathe at a regular pace. “He promised me he would get his homework done, and I’ve just got to take his word for it. He’s pretty good about that kind of thing most of the time, anyway.”

“I’m glad. He seems like he knows what he’s doing.” At last, he turned on the car, and the engine started up with a purr, lighting up the dashboard’s buttons and displays. The radio turned on as well, quiet music leaking out of the speakers and filling the car. It was an artist Paul had heard before but could not name for the life of him.

Patryk glanced at Paul.

“Is this alright?” he asked, reaching for the dial. “We can change it, if you want, or turn it off, whatever you feel like.”

Paul held up his hand, staying Patryk’s without actually touching it.

“No, it’s fine,” he said. The music was calming, at least, filling the car with a slow melody that helped to soothe his nerves. He let himself sink back into the passenger seat, watching as Patryk pulled out of his parking space and started to drive down the road.

They made a bit of smalltalk on the way, nothing exceptional for either of them. Patryk talked about overturning a tray of muffins, while Paul mentioned two passengers in a row who had insisted they knew the route better than him. Normally, it would have felt like a pain to mention these things to someone else, but with Patryk it had a calming effect for Paul, giving him a chance to unwind from the stresses of the day and laugh a bit at some of the more ridiculous moments. If they had spent the whole night in the car, driving around and chatting about nothing, he would have been content just like that.

That was not what was to happen, however, as Paul realized as soon as Patryk pulled up in front of his building and turned off the engine. The music died with it, and they found themselves in a silent car, any noise from outside muffled and distant. Paul became aware that he could hear his own breathing, and he worried if Patryk might hear it as well.

“You alright, Paul?” Patryk asked.

Paul nodded, hoping it did not look as stiff as he felt. “Yeah,” he said. “Just… I don’t know.” He was nervous, but he could not think of why, and it felt wrong for him to admit the former with providing the latter. Patryk was his friend, the first person in years he had felt truly comfortable around, and he thought that should have been reason enough for him to relax and enjoy himself. No matter how hard he thought it, however, his body refused to calm down.

“Worried about Tord?” Patryk guessed. Incorrect, but Paul was grateful for the attempt at understanding, so he offered Patryk a small, uncertain smile. Patryk grinned and put a hand on Paul’s shoulder. “He’ll be fine,” Patryk said. “You’re his dad, so I know you can’t help worrying, but try to remember that your neighbors are looking after him and won’t let anything bad happen, if that will help you feel better.” He popped open his car door and stepped out. “Come on, everything’s almost ready, I’ve just got to throw on the finishing touches.”

Paul, shaken by the touch, sat for one more moment before he climbed out as well, praying that he could just ignore his ever pounding heart.

He followed Patryk up the stairs of the entryway, disgruntled by how familiar it felt despite having only been there one time before, and ran his hand along the bannister as they climbed up. The wood felt smooth under his fingers, dimpled in places where furniture might have banged into it, from people who had long since moved away, disappeared to someplace else.

“How long have you lived here?” he asked, the question slipping out before he had a chance to process it. Patryk, having already reached the landing and inserted his key into the lock, paused to think for a moment, giving Paul enough time to catch up.

“Three years, I think?” he said. He unlocked the door and pushed it open, motioning for Paul to go ahead. He kept talking as they walked inside, “It was actually pretty dreary for a while, I hated coming home because I knew it was just going to be cold and empty. So, a couple of months ago I got rid of most of my old furniture and tried to fix it up a bit, replace everything with something new. I wanted it to feel more like home.”

“Worked pretty well, I think,” Paul said as he gazed around the apartment once more. It was mostly the same, except the living room was brighter now, and the plants on the coffee table had been pushed to one side. In their place sat several plates, already with food on them, and two empty wine glasses.

Paul’s face heated up at the sight.

“Wow,” he said. “It’s… beautiful.” He turned to Patryk, suddenly feeling overwhelmed. “You didn’t have to do all this, it’s so kind and I didn’t even bring anything and—”

“Paul, it’s okay,” Patryk said. His voice was soft, managing to still Paul’s babbling tongue and bring him back to Earth. “I wanted to do this, for the both of us. Just for fun. I know that things aren’t great for you and Tord, so don’t worry yourself about bringing anything, it’s not a big deal. Besides, cooking is really all I am, got to take advantage of that when I have the chance.”

Paul disagreed with that statement, knowing that there was so much more to Patryk than the food he put on the table, but he said nothing, nodding his head once to indicate that he understood. Patryk watched him a moment longer before he turned away, breaking eye contact Paul hadn’t even realized they had been holding.

“I already set the table,” Patryk said, reaching into his back pocket, “but if you wanted to turn on some music, that would be nice.” He pulled out his phone and unlocked it, tapping the screen a few times before handing it to Paul, a music app already open and ready. “You can pick anything you want out of there, the choices are pretty unlimited, so you should be able to find whatever you like.”

Paul took the phone and stared at it. He did not recognize any of the music on the first page, all of the artists blurring in his head as he tried to figure out what they would sound like by name and cover art alone. At last he picked one at random, and as a familiar slow song started playing, he felt confident that he had made a good choice, given how Patryk had seemed to enjoy a similar style on the drive earlier.

“Oh, perfect,” Patryk said from the kitchen, making Paul jump and blush. He had forgotten the other man was there. “Do you know how to connect that to the Bluetooth speakers?”

“Yeah, I can do that,” Paul said, grateful that he actually had some handle on what he was doing for once. He went through the several menus to connect phone and speakers, and when he was finished place the phone down on the counter when he started to hear the music coming from the speakers hidden somewhere in the room.

Patryk finished what he was doing at the same time, and stepped out of the kitchen carrying two bowls of soup, the smell wafting up and making Paul’s stomach growl.

“You’re amazing,” he said without thinking. Patryk looked away and laughed, although Paul was still able to see the dusting of pink on his cheeks.

“No more than you,” he replied. Before Paul had time to process it, Patryk was stepping around him, walking towards the couch, and Paul felt compelled to follow out of some strange fear of being left behind. They sat down on the couch together, Patryk setting one bowl in front of each of them. He then picked up a wine bottle off the table and turned it so that the label faced Paul, not that it meant much to him.

“Is this alright?” Patryk asked. “I wasn’t sure what you would like, so I just picked out one of my favorites. I hope that’s okay.”

“Yeah, it’s great,” Paul said, watching as Patryk turned and poured the wine into the glasses. It might not have been his drink of choice, but he could appreciate it in small amounts, and after Patryk had put the bottle back down he picked up the glass and took a sip. It tasted crisp.

“So, besides the regular annoying people, your day was alright?” Patryk asked. He was holding his glass in one hand, but as he spoke he put it back down and reached for his bowl and spoon, helping himself while Paul replied.

“Yeah,” he said, placing his glass back on the table, “it was okay.” In reality, he had spent a large portion of the day just stressing out about this moment, so that all other memories were covered by a fog of anxiety and nervousness. He wished that he had something more specific to offer, but he could think of nothing, so he shrugged and took a sip of soup, trying not to fall to pieces at the rich flavor.

Patryk was watching him. Paul prayed that he hadn’t gotten food on his face, but just to be safe he set down the bowl and picked up a napkin, dabbing it on his mouth while he still avoided eye contact.

“It’s really good, Patryk, you’re amazing,” he said, noticing just a moment too late that he had already said that. It made Patryk chuckle, though, so it wasn’t the worst blunder he had ever made.

“Thanks,” Patryk said. He took one more moment to stir his soup before he set it down on the table as well, the sound of ceramic hitting wood jarring Paul and forcing him to look at Patryk.

“Paul, are you… feeling alright?” Patryk asked. He sounded awkward, as though he was not sure that he had the right to ask such a question, and rather than elaborate he looked to Paul and shrugged.

Paul wanted to look down, but he could not, knowing that, for whatever reason, it was important he did not break away from Patryk in this moment.

“Mostly,” he said. He had hoped that such a nonspecific word would give him a last-minute way out, but now that he thought about it for a second he realized that there was no way for him to shrug off Patryk’s concern now, which meant that he had to plow ahead with some form of the truth. “I guess I’m just nervous. It was so nice of you to invite me again, I’m worried that you’re going to be disappointed, or even…” He swallowed, unsure that he could say the words. Patryk nodded for him to go on, though, and that gave him just the push to mumble out, “Or you’d regret it.”

“Regret what?” Patryk asked. His voice was soft, gentle.

Paul was going to say inviting him this one night, but he realized there was more to it than that.

“Talking to me again. Giving Tord that cookie that day at the bakery.”

Patryk breathed slowly. Paul could hear it, and in the space between words, he picked up his bowl of soup and took another sip, grateful for the distraction, as he was afraid what he might see if he looked in Patryk’s eyes right then.

“I would never regret it,” Patryk said, and the tone of his voice, so compassionate, made Paul’s heart clench. “Reconnecting with you and Tord, it’s meant the world to me. I spent so long worrying about you two, wondering what had happened after you left. And now you’re here, safe, and Tord has some problems but for the most part he’s doing alright, and it just makes me so glad to see the both of you and know that you’re okay.” He paused, and Paul took the opportunity to glance up, although he looked down immediately, too overwhelmed by the raw emotion on Patryk’s face. He meant every word he said. “And more than that, I just really like being around you, Paul. You’re real, and you make me laugh, and you’ve got this calm energy that I’ve always looked up to. I think you’re amazing.”

Paul had to look up then, both because Patryk had repeated his own word and because a statement like that absolutely deserved it. He tried to say something, some way to convey that he felt much the same way, but when they locked eyes he found himself at a loss for words, mouth open but no noise coming out. He shook his head and looked away again, putting the bowl down as he did so. He mumbled an apology.

“Hey, it’s alright, Paul.” Patryk’s hand was on his knee, but although it made him tense again it was not enough to draw him out of the moment entirely. “You have nothing to apologize for.”

Paul wanted to apologize, though, for being unable to come up with something nearly as heartfelt or meaningful as all that Patryk had said and done. He felt that it deserved so much more than he could offer for it. Before he could voice that, though, the music, which had been playing in the background the whole time, switched to a different song, and Patryk sat up.

“You know this one?” Paul asked, grateful and also furious with himself for taking the easy way out.

Patryk was nodding his head along to the beat.

“It’s one of my favorites, “Dancing in the Moonlight”,” he said. “Have you heard it before?”

“No, can’t say I have.”

Paul barely got the words out before Patryk was off the couch, grabbing Paul’s hand and pulling him up as well. Paul stumbled, but managed to avoid banging into the coffee table as he was yanked up and pulled to the emptier end of the room.

“Do you know how to dance?” Patryk asked.

Paul shook his head. “No. Not at all.”

Patryk laughed out loud. “Great, me neither.”

Paul was still uncertain, though, and Patryk seemed to sense that, pausing before he made another move.

“It’s only if you want to,” he said, “but it could be fun. And really, I’m the worst dancer I’ve ever met.”

“Maybe that was true before you met me,” Paul said, the joke slipping out before he could help it. His tightened his fingers around Patryk’s, thinking, just maybe. He put his free hand on Patryk’s shoulder, and Patryk mirrored him, taking one step forward while Paul took one back.

And then they were dancing, spinning through the room in time with the gentle song. It was like no music Paul had ever imagined himself dancing to before, but it worked so well that he forgot about his nerves and discomfort for a moment as they swung together. Sometimes one would step on the other’s foot, but they would laugh and keep going, any pain unnoticed amidst their joy. They tried to take care not to trip over the coffee table, but, being so focused on one another, it was hard to always remember where in the room they were, and Paul backed into it once, feeling himself starting to fall back before he realized what had happened. Patryk managed to catch him and pull him back up, though, steadying him for only a moment before Paul took another step, not ready to be done just yet.

As the final chorus started to play, a gleam appeared in Patryk’s eyes and he released Paul’s shoulder. Paul stared at him in confusion for a moment before he understood and let go as well, stepping away to let Patryk spin him. He knew that he looked ridiculous, but in that moment it did not matter so much as he relaxed and let himself be spun. Then, just as the song was ending, he felt himself getting pulled back, and he let Patryk take his shoulder again and he took Patryk’s in turn as they stepped back to each other.

He had expected that to be the end of it, but as the last note of the song faded away, he noticed that they were closer than when they had begun, and when he would have expected them to release one another, Patryk continued to hold on. He was looking at Paul, and the hyper focus in his gaze made Paul’s heart start to pound again. He took a breath, surprised that he could feel winded from just a slow dance, and tried to look anywhere that was not in Patryk’s eyes.

“Thank you for coming back, Paul.” He was whispering, but with the limited space between them, that was all he really needed to do.

Paul swallowed and focused on breathing, just trying to get air back into his tired body. His lungs felt stiff, like the harder he tried to work them, the more difficult it became to get any air in.

“Back then, when we were soldiers, I looked up to you so much. You were my inspiration.”

The temperature in the room had dropped several degrees, it must have, and Paul was certain that if he were to run his hand down his arm now he would feel it covered in goosebumps. Only, Patryk’s hand was still wrapped around his, he couldn’t pull away, and when he tried to ask if they could turn the AC down he realized that he had forgotten the word for it. And that shouldn’t have worried him, because people forgot words all the time, it was normal, but he was worried and he didn’t know why and he was nervous and he didn’t know why.

“You still are.”

Patryk’s hand disappeared from Paul’s shoulder. It was like an enormous weight pushing down on his body had been lifted, and in the absence of pressure he thought that maybe he could breathe again. And with breath, he could talk, and they could sit down and finish whatever he had come here to do. They could finish this night and Patryk would still be his friend because god damn, after all these years, he really needed a friend. He needed Patryk.

“I love you, Paul.”

There was a touch, on his hip. On his hip. He looked down, and a hand was there, the hand, some hand,  _his_  hand, was touching him, holding him. And already he could feel the fingers digging into his flesh, bruising him, tearing at his clothes so that they could tear into him next. And the laughter, he could hear it pounding pounding pounding in his ears, he was overwhelmed with it, he wanted to shout over the noise but his lungs weren’t working and he could’t breathe. He couldn’t breathe and he was going to die, they were going to stab him.

They were going to stab him, kill him, they were going to kill him and then they were going to kill Tord and—

Tord. He had to protect him, stay alive, survive. He had to get home, and he would take care of Tord and everything would be alright, just fine, he would fight them so they couldn’t stab him, stab him, kill him, spill his blood on the floor—

Tord.

He pushed forward, and Patryk immediately let go and backed up. He was saying something, but Paul didn’t hear, couldn’t listen. He spun around and saw the door, locked onto it. He took a step forward.

“I’m sorry,” the words came gushing out before he could stop them, apologies sloshing on the spaces between footsteps as he threw himself at the door. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He threw the door open.

“Paul.”

The word made him pause for half a second, trying to remember what he had been doing here in the first place. Patryk was watching him, reaching forward but not taking any steps, waiting. Paul couldn’t read his expression.

And then he remembered that if he waited, they would catch him, wrap their hands around his neck, put their fingers in places they were never invited, never wanted, they would  _touch him_ —

He ran. Out the door, down the stairs, as fast as he could go. He ran up the street, turned a corner, just kept running. His heart was pounding and his lungs were about to explode, but he knew that he could not slow down. His shoes slapped against the pavement, over and over. He ran.

It came as no surprise when, at last, he tripped, crashing down while his knees banged against the pavement and his hands skidded across the ground as he tried to stop his fall. Pain laced up through his body, but it forced him to stay still for a moment, gasping in the cool night air. Once it occurred to him that he was actually breathing, he took another moment to appreciate that fact, then sat himself up and crawled back until he hit the wall of the nearest building, and there he curled up, pulling his knees to his chest and wrapping his arms around them.

He shuddered, but whether it was from cold or exhaustion or emotions was anyone’s guess. His body felt like a piece of taffy that had been stretched apart, and even now, as he tried to relax, it threatened to break apart again, held together by only the thinnest strands. He didn’t even have the energy left to cry. The idea of falling asleep now, outside on the sidewalk, didn’t seem so bad.

He looked up and down the street, trying to remember where he was. Behind the wheel of a cab, he probably could have figured it out in two seconds, but he felt uncertain now, and the world looked as foreign as his body felt. The buildings around him were tall, more like his apartment block than Patryk’s smaller building, and he wondered if he had set himself on the route home without realizing, his subconscious mind still focused on getting to Tord even when everything else was falling apart.

He buried his face into his arm, wishing that the darkness could swallow him alive. His pack of cigarettes was sitting in his pocket, but he did not have the energy left to pull them out, so instead he resigned himself to darkness and the same thought repeating over and over in his mind: he’d ruined it. He had finally had one good thing in his life, and his stupid brain had torn it apart all at once, just for the hell of it.

He didn’t want to think about what Patryk had said right before everything fell apart, what that meant. What it  _could have_  meant, if he hadn’t run off immediately afterwards. Because whatever Patryk had been saying when he’d uttered those words, it was doubtful he would ever say them again, and Paul could think of no one to blame but himself. He had ruined it. Him, and his stupid, stupid brain.

He shook his head and stood up. His muscles screamed for him to sit down again, but he didn’t want to think anymore, or ever again, if he could help it. But Tord was still waiting at home, and Paul had to figure out where exactly he was so that he could walk the rest of the way and then go to bed and forget about this awful night, a process he was well versed in by now and fully prepared to go through all over again.

He took one step, and another, and then he was walking down the dark street, hands in his pockets as he tried not to think about how Patryk’s voice had sounded as he’d said those four little words.


	10. Passages

Patryk threw himself awake, launching himself out of a dream, the details of which were lost even before he could remember where he was.

He looked around, taking a few deep breaths as he took in the rows of beds, the gray concrete walls. He was in the barracks, his home, and in a few hours he would have to wake up for morning roll call. There were no windows in the room to see if the sun was coming up yet, but if he craned his neck he could see the large digital clock that hung on one wall. It glowed green, the numbers reading 2:54.

He lowered himself back down to the bed. An full hour he’d slept. Impressive.

He rolled onto his side, by this point used to the frequent waking and sleeplessness. Ever since Tord had been born, he had been more vigilant, always aware that Maxim was nearby, somewhere in the base, ready to pounce out of this shadow or around that corner. During the day he was able to keep his nerves in check, going about his routines as normal, but at night it was harder, and he found himself more and more often jumping awake, certain that he was about to be caught.

Now, as he settled back down, he noticed that the bed just across from him was empty. This was not so strange, as soldiers had full freedom to leave their bunks and go about any business they needed to during the night, but it struck him as odd when he looked beyond that bed and saw that the next one over was empty as well. He sat up and, looking around the room, realized that at least a quarter of its inhabitants were missing, some beds messy and unmade while others were just as perfect as they had been the morning before.

He wondered if there was some special assignment that night. Thinking of none, he assumed that whatever was going on did not apply to him, and he prepared to go back to sleep.

Then he heard it.

From somewhere beyond the walls of the barracks, tucked into the concrete maze of the base so that only the muffled echo could actually reach his ears: the sound of gunfire.

Patryk sat up. He had been training in the army long enough to know what it sounded like when a gun went off, and that there was no reason for one to be doing so outside of the soundproof firing range.

A second time. He could see the other soldiers starting to stir around him, some still groggy while others, like him, alert and waiting.

A third shot. Patryk got out of bed, slipped on his boots, and started to sneak across the room. He kept his eyes locked on the sliver of light coming through the doorway, ignoring for now the multitude of empty beds in favor of getting himself across the room as fast as possible without making a sound, both for fear of being noticed and that he might miss whatever came next. He could hear others around him doing something similar, but he did not stop to look to them, focused solely on his target. When he reached the door, he opened it a crack, peeking out into the fully lit hallway.

He only had a moment to see it was empty before the lights went out.

There were gasps and yelps as the base plunged into darkness. Patryk whipped around, trying to find some source of light, but even the clock had gone out, leaving the soldiers in a perfect void. He could hear them moving now, louder as their movements became more frantic and some started to panic, but he had no idea where they were now, sounds blending together to form a kind of soup in the space around him.

A scuffle, or what he assumed was a scuffle, broke out as two soldier crashed into each other. Patryk could head them rolling across the floor, bumping into people and beds as the darkness turned this group of humans into animals. Realizing that this room might soon be unsafe, he opened the door and stepped out into the hallway, glancing from side to side as he stepped out. Still, there was no light, so he put his right hand against the nearest wall and started to walk, letting his touch be his only guide. The cement wall was cool under his fingers, not cold like ice but just as hard and unyielding. It was just as well that he tried to go quietly because he found it hard to convince himself to walk faster, certain that at any moment he would bump into a wall or knock his head against something hanging from the ceiling. He couldn’t think of anything that would pose such a threat, but he kept his hand up just in case, shielding his face against the unseen dangers.

As he walked, he started to hear sounds around him. It was hard to distinguish them from the regular creaks and groans of the base at first, but he soon became certain that it was the other soldiers, sneaking through the hallways alongside him. Unlike in the barracks, though, where he had had some sense of how many there were, now he had no idea, and they almost seemed to fade in and out of existence as they walked, at first inches from his face and then suddenly miles away again. It struck him as odd that no one was saying anything, before he realized that these must have been the same people who had been firing their weapons moments before, and whoever they had fired at was still in the base with them, possibly hiding. Or hunting.

Somewhere out in front of him, another fight started, the yells of two angry people ringing through the facility and sending shockwaves through the silence. There were pounding footsteps around him as people rushed forward, and he pressed himself against the wall to avoid a collision. There were thuds all around as people tripped over themselves and each other, the sounds making Patryk’s heart beat faster and harder in his chest.

It came as no surprise when someone at last bowled into his shoulder and sent both of them crashing to the floor.

Patryk caught himself and was able to keep his head from smashing against the concrete, but he was not at all prepared for when the other person pressed a hand to his mouth and leaned down on his chest, squeezing the air out of him. He scrambled, fighting to get himself free, but he could pry neither arm off of himself, and when he lashed out his hands met empty air. Kicking was slightly more effective in that he was actually able to hit something, but it did nothing to deter his attacker, and he could feel himself slowing down the longer he tried to fight.

At last, in desperation he opened his mouth and bit down, digging his teeth into the palm of their hand. He planned to push them off and run away, but they cried out as they let go, and the voice was familiar enough to make Patryk pause.

“Paul?” he gasped.

The person on top of him stilled. As Patryk’s heart stopped thundering in his ears, he became aware that there were still people moving around them, but they were going in a separate direction, and he became aware that another fight had broken out somewhere behind him, the howls and shouts splitting the dark air. His breathing sounded like a racket in his ears, but amidst the noises of chaos and confusion, he doubted that anyone running by could hear it. He was, in effect, invisible.

The person grabbed the front of his shirt and stood, hoisting him up on the way. He was then pressed against the wall, although he quickly gathered that it was less to trap him and more for the sake of keeping him out of the way of the other soldiers.

“Paul?” he tried again. The grip on his shirt tightened then, and he felt the person step closer.

“Don’t say anything.” Yes, it was definitely Paul, but his voice was deep and hoarse, and even with him standing this close Patryk could barely hear him over the other sounds pounding around them. He took a deep breath. “Where’s Silje?”

“Probably in her sleeping quarters,” Patryk said. “Why—”

A hand was pressed to his mouth a second time and he shut up without any further instruction. He could smell blood, and when Paul pulled away he could feel something wet left behind on his lip. He wiped it away, knowing that there would be a smear left but unable to do anything about it right then. He suddenly felt bad for biting down so hard.

Paul grabbed his elbow and yanked, pulling Patryk away from the safety of the wall and back into the void. He moved with such elegance that Patryk almost wondered if he could see somehow. Patryk himself just had to put his faith in Paul that he was not leading them straight into a wall and followed along, listening all the while to the sounds of people moving around them, like fish swimming in some deep ocean trench.

The grip on Patryk’s arm was fierce, and he wondered if Paul knew how tightly he was holding on. He doubted it, willing to believe that Paul would not be hurting him intentionally but uncertain how to point it out given their continued silence. The longer they went without speaking, the louder the other noises around them became, until it seemed a miracle to Patryk that no one had found them yet, either by their feet brushing across the floor or the sound of his breath whistling through his nose.

Paul held on, and Patryk did not complain.

The inevitable came suddenly, an invisible body bumping into Paul while Patryk was still mid-stride. Paul bounced backwards and knocked into Patryk. He was able to keep his balance, but the jolt caused Paul to let go of his arm, and Patryk suddenly felt himself floating alone in space, with no clue where the other was. He stood still for a moment, trying to get his bearings, but his heart picked up as he heard something heavy crash to the floor in front of him, followed by the sounds of two people battering each other in the darkness. Actually, it might have just been one person, beating the other over and over in a silent, invisible rage.

He stood frozen, uncertain, and afraid. If he were to rush forward, he might trip over them, or get dragged into it himself and escalate the violence. He couldn’t call out, either, knowing that if he was somehow wrong and Paul was not a part of the fighting then it would be needlessly putting them in danger, revealing both of them to whoever was in the facility. He reached forward, waving his arms through the air, hopeful that he could find Paul by touch alone. His hand briefly touched a sweater, but then the owner leaped back and pulled out of his reach, leaving him stranded once more, lonely and prone to attack at any moment.

When, at last, a hand reached out from the darkness and grabbed him, it was too much of a shock for him to feel any relief, because, although they made no move to attack him now, he still had no way of knowing whether he was being held by Paul or some other soldier.

He felt a tug as they started to move, but he stayed planted, refusing to budge until he knew whom he was going with. The person holding him tugged once more before they seemed to understand his hesitation and stopped, but that left the both of them at a standstill, as neither knew how to communicate without giving themselves away. Patryk almost swore he could hear the other whispering to him, but it was so low that it would have just as easily have been someone scuffing the heel of their shoe against the floor.

It was awkward, standing there without saying anything, but Patryk could not make himself leave, not when there was even the slightest chance he would be abandoning Paul. Without access to sight or sound, he thought about his other options. Smell was out of the question, of course, the mere thought of it making his cheeks heat up, so he moved on to his other choice, still somewhat intimate but justifiable.

He touched the hand where it held him, felt the fingers tense and dig into his skin. The grip felt the same as earlier, but that was not enough for him to go off of, and he traced the tips of his fingers up the other person’s arm. Their clothes were no help to him, since they were wearing the same standard sweater as everyone else in the army, but he continued to travel upward, until he passed the hem around their neck. He was surprised by how cold and clammy their skin felt, but he ignored it, following the curve of their neck up to their jaw.

There. He felt the stubble under his fingertips, and he nearly cried out in joy, remembering himself only at the last moment. It was a simple thing to go off of, but he knew in his heart that this was Paul, that they had somehow found each other twice now in the darkness. His hand came up and he cupped the man’s cheek, feeling for the first time a face that he had become so used to seeing in the light. The stubble made it scratchy, and he still felt cool, but Patryk could imagine that his skin was soft in the light of day. He found that, despite the noises continuing around them and the ever present darkness pressing in, he did not want to let go. He never wanted to be separated from Paul again.

Someone bumped into him and he was abruptly reminded of where they were and what they had been doing before the interruption. He pulled his hand back and took a step forward. Paul seemed to understand, as he stepped back and then resumed leading Patryk down the hall, slower this time but still with a purposeful stride.

As they walked, the sounds around them started to die out, until it seemed that they were the only two living souls left in the base. Rather than calm Patryk’s nerves, however, the newfound silence made him more anxious, because whereas before the darkness had been filled with other soldiers, now there could have been anything lurking just out of sight, and he found himself walking closer to Paul, less for protection than to ensure that they would not be separated a second time.

It was hard to tell exactly where they were at any given moment, but he knew that they were in the general area of Silje’s quarters when Paul started to slow down and pat along the wall. Eventually, he found what he was looking for, and Patryk heard the hollow sound of knuckles knocking against a door. There was movement on the other side, and then a muffled voice that he could not understand.

Paul must have, though, because Patryk could just make out his whispered, “I’m here.”

The door cracked open, and Patryk was at last able to see as Paul’s outline was enveloped in a halo of white light. He released Patryk’s arm and slipped inside, but when Patryk went to follow, he put a hand against his chest and made him still.

“Please, just, stay there,” he said. “Just stay.” The hand on his chest was firm. When Paul pulled away, Patryk did not try to follow.

The door shut, and Patryk was dropped into the darkness once more, seemingly deeper now that he had experienced light for the briefest moment. He turned and rested his back against the door, staring out into the empty space ahead of him. There was no way for him to watch out for others, but he hoped that he could at least be prepared to defend himself by facing forward.

The darkness of the hallway pressed down. Patryk stood still and waited.

The longer he waited, the more he could hear from behind the door. He was never able to make out the actual words of the conversation, but he knew when it was one person talking or the other, and he knew enough about both of them to tell that neither was happy. Their voices never grew to yelling, but instead pushed out with a kind of quiet intensity he doubted he could have faced head-on. Even standing on the other side of the door, the sounds made him uncomfortable, like he was just waiting for his parents to come out and scold him for something.

Swallowing, he took a step away from the door to try to clear his head, but the loss of contact only made him remember how lost he truly was. With Paul guiding him, he had felt more confident in knowing his whereabouts, but now, on his own, he felt somewhat helpless, and he wished that someone would get to fixing this problem soon, so that everyone could relax and go back to bed.

As he stood, considering everything, he heard something. His thoughts stopped as he listened closer, and there, he heard it again: footsteps. There was someone out in the darkness, sneaking forward through the hall. They were taking some care to mask their footfalls, but Patryk could still hear the tiniest scuff each time they placed down a heavy boot.

Patryk’s heart rate started to pick up, but he did not dare to move, barely breathing as he listened to the person come closer. He wanted to dart back into the room, but doing so would immediately reveal it to the stranger, putting everyone inside at risk if this was the person who had caused the commotion earlier.

Still, they came closer, footsteps growing louder, breathing becoming audible the closer they came. Patryk had no idea who it was, what they looked like, only that they had come a long, long way in the darkness, taking specific directions that would have been hard to choose at random.

Closer. He could smell them, now, a sour scent so distinct that he doubted he could ever forget it, no matter how hard he tried. No matter how badly he wanted to.

The door opened behind him.

“Patryk, come on, we’re going—”

Silje froze. Patryk froze. He looked down, saw two beady eyes staring back up at him.

Silje grabbed the back of Patryk’s shirt and  _yanked_ , throwing him back into the room and slamming the door behind him. Paul jumped back and Patryk heard a whimper. He turned and saw that Paul had Tord wrapped in his arms. The month-old was just waking up, and he stretched out his fists as he let out another murmur, briefly managing to pull Patryk out of his fear as he stopped to watch the tiny mouth open wide in a yawn.

Silje stepped forward and took the child, cradling him in her arms and rocking him back to sleep. Patryk watched as Paul looked on, the longing in his eyes not unnoticed as Tord slowly relaxed back into slumber.

“Someone knows we’re here,” Silje said. Her voice was quiet, so as not to disturb the baby. “Patryk, do you know who that was?”

Patryk felt like he did, but the moment had passed too quickly for him to be certain.

“No,” he said. “I think they were alone, though.”

“But they might come back with the others,” Paul said. “Silje, we have to get out of here, right now. We don’t have time to stand around and wait.”

“And you two will be dead by morning anyway if you don’t have a plan.” Patryk had never seen Silje like this before. He had seen disappointed, angry, but this was something else, a quiet intensity building up in her that could have been either fear or rage.

She held her child tightly, not squeezing, just holding.

“And I do have a bit of a plan,” Paul said. Silje scoffed, but he continued, “I know some details are missing, but I’ll work it out on the way. We just have to go now, before they find us. There’s too many of them for us to try to fight, and once I’m dead they’re going to want to go after Tord, too.” He turned to Patryk suddenly, eyes imploring. “Patryk, you understand, don’t you? You heard them out there, what they’re like right now. It’s not safe for any of us, and especially not for Tord.”

Patryk had trouble answering, though, as his head was still spinning with the new information. Someone wanted to kill Paul. That was a little bit surprising, but he knew that he could have guessed it after everything that had happened so far. But someone wanting to kill Tord? A baby? He shook his head, trying to clear it, but his thoughts continued to spin as he took it all in.

Paul was in danger, and apparently so was Tord. Knowing that, getting out as quickly as possible seemed to be the only option.

“Yeah, I get it,” he said, looking to Silje. “There were a lot of people out there, and some of them sounded furious,” he said. “It’s definitely not safe in the base tonight.”

Silje looked between the two of them for a moment. Then, in an act that surprised Patryk, she handed Tord to Paul and walked to the back of the room.

“Fine,” she said, “but let me get you some supplies, at least.”

By the light of a single flashlight, she grabbed a bag and started to walk around the room, filling it with things hidden in shadow. It was hard for him to say for sure, but to Patryk it seemed that it was almost all baby supplies.

He turned to Paul, and with a start realized that the other man was shaking.

“Paul,” he said, “what’s going on? What happened?”

Paul bit his lip. The tremors seemed to get worse, running up and down his legs and through his body. He held Tord as if the baby was the only thing anchoring him there, and for a moment Patryk thought he was about to cry.

“Paul?”

“Hey.” Silje was back, the bag swung up over her shoulder while the other hand gripped the flashlight. “I have everything. If you’re both right, then we have to leave now.”

“But…” Patryk turned to look back at Paul, but the soldier had gone firm and still again, and without a word he turned to the door and reached for the handle.

“You should shut that off now,” he said. “A light like that’s only going to bring us trouble.”

There was a click, and without warning Patryk found himself steeped in darkness once more. At least he was a bit more prepared to deal with it this time, and he followed the sound of Paul opening the door, sneaking behind him back into the hallway. A part of him desperately wanted Paul to reach back and take hold of him again, but with Tord in his arms that was unlikely to happen, and whenever Patryk reached forward he was only met with the empty darkness. Still, he could hear Paul moving just a few steps ahead of them, and he had to trust that that would be enough to keep them together.

When they first left the room, it was easy for him to differentiate between the three sets of footsteps, but the longer they walked, the more difficult it became, until he was having trouble figuring out which sounds were his own feet and which belonged to the others. On that note, he found himself struggling to say for sure that it was only the three of them, and any step out of place had him convinced that there was someone else, out in the darkness, following them.

Paul seemed intent on taking them back the way they had come, but at one point, as he went to turn a corner, a hand shot out of the darkness and landed on Patryk’s shoulder.

He could only barely keep himself from yelping, still managing to jump a bit at the sudden contact. It did not take long for him to realize it was just Silje and calm himself down, but the commotion made Paul stop, and a moment later he walked back to them. By his footsteps, Patryk believed that they were only inches away from each other, now, but he still could not see the faintest detail of the man’s face.

“Is that the way you came from?” Silje asked. Her voice was low, barely a growl, but in the silence it seemed to thunder.

“Yes, it’s fastest,” Paul said. “We can get up onto the main floor and then out from there. It’s the most direct way to go.”

“And we’ll end up in the middle of the other soldiers,” Silje said. “Think about it, Paul. If everyone is coming from that direction like you said, then if the lights come back on we won’t be able to get out without being spotted. It’s safer to go around and get out through a side door.”

“But that would take longer,” Paul said. Patryk did not miss the desperation in his voice. “You don’t get it, we have to get out of here as fast as possible.”

“I do understand that, Paul, but we have to be sensible while we’re doing it,” Silje said. “It won’t do us any good if we’re caught out in the open.”

“Paul’s right.” Patryk was not sure how he had found his voice so suddenly, but now that he was talking he doubted he could stop. “We need to get out of here as fast as possible, and that’s only going to happen if we go through the main exit. Besides, they haven’t even got anybody working to solve the problem yet, it might be morning before the lights come back on.”

With two against one, the decision seemed made. Silje said nothing, but hefted the bag onto her should and let Paul take the lead again as they kept walking. There was a new tension in the group now, though, and Patryk had to try not to think about what it would mean if he had made the wrong decision.

As they got closer to the main exit of the base, the shuffling in the darkness started up again, and Patryk could only imagine the hunched forms of soldiers as they wandered through the halls, ears alert for anything that might identify Patryk or his companions.

Something brushed Patryk’s arm. He ignored it and tried to continue walking, but then he felt it again, a hand running along his lower arm. He hurried his pace, hoping that he could stick close to Paul and get away from whoever else was in there.

Out of nowhere, a hand appeared, grabbing onto Patryk’s shoulder and digging its fingernails into his skin.

Patryk gasped and jumped, breaking away from the stranger. He tripped over himself and knocked into Paul, just managing to catch himself before he fell. He heard Paul stumble, but there was no collapse, which provided Patryk’s pounding heart a momentary sense of relief. Until he heard the faintest whimper, and realized that the sudden movement had jostled Tord from his sleep.

Patryk held his breath. The commotion must have caught the attention of the other soldiers, as all of the shuffling had stopped as each listened for whatever happened next. Tord’s small noises continued, getting slightly louder, but underneath it Patryk realized he could hear a softer, deeper sound. Paul was whispering.

“Please,” he begged, so quiet that Patryk doubted even Silje could hear him. “Please, please just stay quiet. I have to keep you safe. Please, Tord.” The desperation in his voice was real, but Patryk did not realize that he shared the feeling until Tord started to calm down and the wave of relief washed over him. Several pairs of feet were on the move again, having assumed that the noise was nothing to worry about. Silently, Patryk thanked Tord for listening, and he stepped forward to start walking again.

And that was when the lights came on.

Patryk was stunned by the sudden wave of light, so that he had to stand for a minute and blink to gather his bearings. Only about half of the lights had actually come on, but compared to the absolute darkness, it was a lot to take in, and for a moment he managed to forget where he was and what they had been doing before.

Then, he felt a large hand in between his shoulder blades.

“Run.  _Run_.”

Silje was pushing him, shoving him through the hall so that he had to run just to keep himself upright. The other soldiers were taking a moment to adjust to the change, but as they came to their senses and realized what was going on, the shouting started, echoing through the cramped hallway and building in intensity as more people joined in.

“I see him!”

“They’re headed for the exit!”

“ _Murderer!_ ”

That last one made Patryk’s heart jump into his throat, but there was no time to think on it or ask questions, because at last the other soldiers were on the move, running after them or stepping forward to block their path. Silje shoved herself to the front of their trio and broke through the lines of people in their way, while Patryk made his way to the back and knocked away any reaching hands. Paul, in the middle, hunched over Tord and continued to run.

They wheeled around a corner and at last caught sight of the exit, illuminated by a single bank of lights, when Patryk felt someone grab his shirt. He tried to pull away, but then another snatched his arm, and as he turned to face them a fist appeared and he felt a crushing blow to his jaw. He fell to the floor, and then someone was pinning him down, and when he looked up there was a gun to his forehead.

As he looked up into the muzzle, he felt the world around him start to dissolve, piece by piece. The people around him were still talking and yelling, maybe screaming, maybe saying his name, but he could no longer understand what they said, nor did he care. He had imagined this moment plenty of times in the months before he arrived at the base, but he had always pictured himself on a battlefield, looking up at someone he was meeting for the first time. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this, here, in his home, facing a person he had spend the last months working with.

He blinked. He wasn’t afraid. Just awed.

A door slammed somewhere beyond his view, and the gun twitched as its owner stopped focusing on him for a fraction of a second to look towards the noise. That tiny movement was all it took for Patryk’s training to kick in, and he yanked one arm free while rolling to the side, getting himself away just before the gun went off. From there, he sprang up while he yanked the soldier still holding him onto the ground, then made a grab for the gun while he elbowed his attacked in the face. The gun came free, and he turned, pointing it back at the crowd, ready and willing to do what it took to protect his friends.

Only, the other soldiers were hanging back now, no longer following or making any grabs at him. For a moment, he thought it was because of the gun, but he realized that none of them were looking at him, and instead were focused on something just behind his shoulder. He glanced back.

There was a man in a suit. He was not a particularly impressive looking man, nor one that Patryk had ever seen before. He had brown hair, flecked with gray, and a thick mustache of the same color. He was not  _old_ , but the wrinkles in his face showed that he had some years of experience doing whatever he did, as did the wary respect afforded to him by the soldiers.

Except for Paul, who had gone pale and was starting to shake again. He stared at the man and did not move, save to pull Tord closer against him and turn the boy so that his face was hidden from view. The man had not noticed yet, still focused on the larger group in front of him, but it struck Patryk as necessary that Paul not be spotted by this stranger.

“I want an explanation,” the man said, his voice deeper than expected. Patryk took a final glance at him, noting the large scar under one eye that seemed to blend with the rest of his cracked features. Then, he took the gun, aimed up, and shot out the lights.

The people around him jumped and started as they were plunged back into darkness, but Patryk ignored them, instead rushing towards Paul and Silje and pushing them forward. The sound of their footsteps was covered by the yelling of many confused soldiers, so that they were able to get through the last stretch of hallway and, at last, out the door. And from there they just kept running.

The full moon was out that night, which was a thankful thing, as there were many more hazards outside and potential things to trip over. Silje rushed ahead of them to press the button and open the gate, and then they were out in the woods, still running, although not nearly as fast as Patryk would have liked. He could still hear shouting behind them, but it grew fainter the longer they ran, until at least it faded away entirely, and they were left on their own in the sleeping forest. At this point Paul, now at the front of the trio, slowed down, and they continued to move forward at a fast walk, sometimes on the path, sometimes not.

When, at last, they reached the boundary of the territory, the horizon was just starting to turn orange with the sunrise. Paul stopped, and Patryk and Silje did as well.

“You two should head back to the base now,” Paul said. “We’ll be fine on our own from here.”

Patryk opened his mouth to protest, but stopped as he watched Silje pass the bag of supplies over, letting Paul pull it onto his shoulder. The extra weight seemed to make him crumple, but he held up, shouldering it while he continued to hold on tightly to Tord.

Patryk glanced between the two.

“But you can’t… you can’t just leave by yourself,” he said. “It’s not safe out there, not all alone with a baby. Let me go with you.”

“No.” Paul’s refusal was stronger than Patryk had expected, and he found himself shrinking away from the more experienced soldier. “Tord and I have to disappear, Patryk, and it’s going to be easiest if I’m alone.” He swallowed. “I need to do what’s best for my son. That’s all I can think about right now.”

Patryk glanced to Silje. She said nothing, her gaze fixed on Tord’s sleeping face. Patryk wondered why she made no move now to hold him.

“Where will you go?” he asked.

“Some of Silje’s friends,” Paul said. “We can hide with them for a while, and they can make some IDs for us.”

“And after that?” Patryk asked.

Paul looked down at Tord.

“Haven’t really thought that far ahead yet,” he said.

Patryk felt like he was going to be sick. Again, he looked to Silje, but she still made no objection, and he found that her silence was somehow worse than hearing Paul’s plan.

“What if something happens?” His voice came out quieter than he meant it to, and the question was not exactly the one he had meant to ask. Really, he wanted to know how he would ever find out if Paul and Tord were alright, if they had made a new life in some city far away from here.

But Paul shook his head.

“I’ll look after Tord with everything I’ve got,” he said. “Anything that wants him is going to have to go through me first.”

That was no comfort for Patryk, but before he could say that he realized that the sun was rising. Paul shuffled his feet, looking to the horizon, and Patryk knew that he meant to leave right now, and Patryk had run all out of time to say everything he needed to. Silje, too, look to the sky, and then she stepped forward and touched Tord’s hair, watching as it bounced back up when she pulled her hand away.

“Be strong, love,” she said, and then she leaned down and kissed her son on the forehead. Then she stepped back and looked up to Paul, giving him a single nod. “Protect him.”

“I will,” Paul promised. He looked to Patryk.

Even though Patryk should have been focusing on the current moment, he found himself reminded of when he left home to join the army. His parents and siblings had still been asleep when he left that morning, bag already packed from the night before, and when he left he locked the door behind him, then tossed away the key. He had always slightly hoped that one of his siblings might find it and know it was his, but he had thrown it far enough that he could imagine it still lying there, filthy and worn after more than a year of sitting in the soil.

“Just… take care, Paul,” he said. He had to look away.

“Thanks. You too, Patryk.”

The sound of his shoes pivoting in the dirt forced Patryk to look up, and as he did the light at last beamed down on Paul he saw the darker red spot on the other man’s sweater. He gasped, reaching towards it.

“Paul, are you… Are you…” But, as he stepped closer, he realized it was not blood, but a darker red patch, messily sewn onto the front of the sweater. “When did that happen?”

Paul looked down at the patch and squinted at it, but he could not seem to answer Patryk’s question. He stared down, but remained silent as he did so.

Silje suddenly pointed, out towards the horizon.

“You need to go now,” she said, breaking Paul’s focus on the mysterious patch. “Stay here any longer, and they might take trucks out to find you. Go!”

Without another word or a glance back, Paul took her advice, walking out into the last stretch of forest before the main road. From there, he could either walk to the nearest town or continue along it until he reached the highway, which was a straight route to a larger, though further city. It struck Patryk that he had no idea which way Paul would choose to go, and now, as he watched the other man’s retreating back, it was too late to ask.

The last he saw of Paul was a red sweater disappearing behind a tree.

He and Silje stood there a moment longer before she turned and started to walk back to base. Patryk followed, letting the sound of leaves stirring in the breeze be the only noise as morning arrived, filling the forest with its light.


	11. Marks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: references to sexual assault.

“Okay, so Debora will be in charge of invitations. Christine, you’re on decorations, and try to remember where you got those discount streamers from last time. Helen, you have the van, so you’ll be our emergency transportation if we need it. That just leaves… Paul.”

His name was what brought him back to the conversation, and Paul blinked as though just waking up from too-short a nap. He looked over the women, all sitting in a circle of chairs made for children, and was unsurprised to realize that he still had no idea which one was which. Then he turned to Hillary up at the front of the room, with her white-blond hair cut sharp like the edge of a knife and washed out blue eyes that were staring daggers into him now. He knew that she used expensive wrinkle cream because she had suggested it to the other women on several occasions, but it could do nothing to disguise the deep creases that formed at the corners of her mouth as she waited.

Paul swallowed the sour spit in his mouth. They had written much more on the blackboard than the last time he had looked, so that now the white letters stretched all the way across the black surface and crowded against each other, packed into any space they fit. He had vague memories of a few items, but most had gone up without his noticing, and now he had no idea why any of it was significant or what it had to do with whatever they had been talking about. He felt like he was back in grade school all of a sudden, facing a teacher after having slept through all of a lecture.

“What?” he said. The only difference was that in grade school he might have tried to hide his lack of attention. Here, everyone already knew how little interest he had in these meetings, and by the way several people had started to pull out their phones, they also knew how long it would take to get him caught up on what he’d missed.

“We’re dividing up the tasks for our last teacher event of the year,” Hillary said. Her back was straight soldier’s, and the meter stick she used as a pointer looked like it would work just as well for smacking down a belligerent child’s knuckles. “We’ve only got a couple things left that we need, a driver and someone to get the cake, so if you could just look to the board—”

The classroom door flew open. Paul spun around, grateful to not have to look in Hillary’s beady eyes for a moment, and was surprised to see the bald man from the after school sessions. He was wearing a dark blue jogging outfit today, despite the fact that could not have gone jogging in some twenty odd years, as evidenced by his bright red cheeks and uneven gasps of breath as he stumbled into the classroom. It was almost comical to watch, and Paul might have laughed, had the man’s searching eyes not suddenly locked onto him.

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” he said. “But, there’s a problem.”

Paul’s heart stopped. Tord had done it. He’d finally done it, he’d bitten a kid and made them bleed. He’d punched someone. Tord was sitting in the principal’s office already expelled and this was the end, after everything they had worked for it was all going to go to waste today, in a stuffy office in a crumbling school, and here was a nameless bald man to bring him the news.

“Paul,” the man said. “Can you come with me?”

He stood from the miniature chair and walked to the door without a word. The other members of the PTA said nothing on his way out, which was good, because he would not have had any idea how to respond. All of his effort right then was going into forcing one foot in front of the other, while hs thoughts were caught up on every little thing he could have done differently to prevent this end.

He had expected to walk straight to the principal’s office, so he was surprised when the man turned to face him just a few steps from the door. Paul stopped just short of walking into him, and then took a pace back, giving himself a comfortable amount of distance from the other person.

“Paul,” the man said, “I don’t know any easy way to say this. Tord is missing.”

Paul’s heart skipped a beat, all of his prior thoughts washing away, only to be replaced by a strange numbness as he took in the news. He knew that he should have felt afraid, or angry, but instead he was resigned to some slight confusion and a bit of frustration that he could not fully understand what the man was telling him.

“What?” he said, as though hearing it a second time might better help him grasp the situation.

“He’s gone.” The man swallowed. His face was still bright red, Paul noted, and the bags under his eyes indicated that he had not slept well in some time. That, or he was just old. “I have no idea how it happened. I saw him come in and pull out his homework, like he always does, and so I left him to it so I could focus on the other kids. And then, when I looked back, he was gone. I searched all over for him, but I couldn’t find him anywhere. No one else came into the gym, so I can only imagine that he slipped out on his own, but I don’t know where he went. Do you have any ideas?”

Paul’s mind jumped to the bakery, but he shook it off, frustrated that his thoughts kept wandering back to it at such inappropriate times. During work, he often considered driving by with his passengers, and now here, with his son missing, he still had to take a moment to think about the warm, welcoming interior, rich with the smell of baking bread and freshly brewed coffee. Paul had spent weeks now trying not to imagine what might be going on there in his absence, and this moment served as a marker of just how successful he had been.

“Home,” he bit out. It was the next best place he could think of, but the bakery still rested at the back of his mind, waiting for him to acknowledge it.

“Are you sure?” the man asked. He still felt too close, so Paul took another step back, indifferent to whether he noticed or not. “Kids who run away, they don’t always go where we expect them to. Just in case, is there anywhere else he might have gone?”

“No,” Paul said. “Tord doesn’t really go anywhere besides home and school, there’s really no where else he could have gone.”

“Are you su—”

“ _Yes_ ,” Paul snapped. It was an accident, he had not meant for the word to come out harshly, but once it was there he knew he could not take it back, and that sense of helplessness only made his temper worsen. “Tord doesn’t do anything, so unless you’re suggesting that I don’t know anything about my own son, then there’s nowhere else he could have gone. Hell, he’s probably home right now, waiting for me to come back and let him in.”

“There’s no need to get angry, Paul,” the man said. He did not shy away, but instead held his ground, and for the first time in years Paul missed the kind of respect he’d sometimes been afforded back when he was a soldier. “You just have to realize, this is a very serious matter, and—”

“If this was so serious, maybe you shouldn’t have lost him.”

“—and if I were you, I would consider calling the police.”

That, at last, was what forced Paul to pause. It was no exaggeration to say he had been avoiding all contact with the police for the last seven years, for reasons he could never admit to the concerned teacher standing before him. For one thing, they could ask to see their identification papers, and although they had passed every inspection so far, there was always the possibility that they would finally figure out that almost everything in Paul and Tord’s lives were fabricated. Or, an officer could walk into his apartment, see the disarray, and decide Tord would be better off with strangers to care for him, leaving Paul alone in a filthy, empty apartment with nothing left but his own racing thoughts. He had imagined ending up in that situation a thousand different ways, but going down that route because of the police was always one of the worst, because he could not help but picture Tord with some stranger’s hand around his wrist as he was pulled away, crying and yelling, and Paul unable to do anything but stand and watch.

“Paul?” the man said, snapping Paul out of his thoughts. He sounded less frustrated suddenly, and more concerned. “Are you okay? Are things alright at home?”

Paul took another step back. He started to shake his head, stopped, took another step.

“It’s fine,” he said. “Tord is fine, he’s just waiting for me right now and I should go let him in before something really does happen. It will be fine. Please, just, please, don’t call the police.” He was aware of how suspicious he sounded, but he didn’t have the energy to say anything better. He turned and started walking, then running, down the school hall, not pausing to say goodbye to the man or give instructions for what to do if Tord reappeared. Instead, he burst through the front doors and took off down the street, focusing on his image of Tord, alone outside their apartment, to force himself to keep moving.

He could not run the whole way, slowing down to a walk for brief stretches before picking up the pace again, desperate to get home and see Tord, safe, not missing or in danger. The man’s question kept ringing through his mind,  _Are things alright at home_ , and he tried not to dwell too much on how that answer was not a happy one.

The apartment had been tense ever since the night Paul had returned, out of breath and shaking, some time around midnight. Tord had asked him what went wrong, but Paul, unable to give an answer, snapped at him for still being out of bed. Whenever he tried to talk about it, his throat would close up and he would choke on his own words, and by this point he had grown so tired of it that he had started to snap whenever Tord so much as brought it up. Tord, in turn, had stopped asking questions. Instead of leading to any sort of peace between them, though, it had made interactions between them awkward and uncomfortable, and this most often manifested itself in fighting. Tord would do something that upset Paul, Paul would get mad about it, Tord would defend himself, and it would escalate until both of them were yelling at each other. Then, just before it could get any more serious, Paul would storm out and go for a walk or sit on the apartment stairs until he was ready to go back inside, although not ready to give an apology and expecting none in return. In this way, they created a pile of problems that never saw any true resolution, and instead were allowed to build up and fester, providing more fuel to whatever their next fight would be.

It was a system that had been guaranteed to break. Paul just had not expected it to happen so soon, or quite like this.

He wheeled around the corner of the apartment block and saw the front door. Tord wasn’t there. That was fine, though, Tord was a cute lost kid, and any one of their neighbors might have let him inside. Paul unlocked the door and let himself in, then ran for the stairs, knowing that the rickety elevator would be too slow for his cut patience. Every step up felt like agony, not because of his lungs screaming for air, but because each step took time, and it made the whole thing feel like slow motion as he ascended.

On reaching the fourth floor, he veered away from the next flight of stairs and burst into the hallway, fully prepared to see the red hoodie combined with a blue backpack.

But there was nothing. The hallway was empty.

He walked up to their apartment and jiggled the handle, but found it was locked, which meant there was no way Tord could have gotten in. He then walked next door and knocked, but when no response came, he had to assume that their neighbors were out, which meant that Tord could not have been staying with them.

There was no where else for Tord to go in the building. Which meant he was somewhere out in London, wandering and alone.

Actually, alone was probably the best Paul could hope for, because anything else meant that he had been taken, in which case ransom kidnappers would have been the least of his concerns, as he thought back on all the people who had lined up just to kill a month old baby.

He shook his head. Now was not the time for that. He had to find Tord.

He ran into the apartment only for a moment, just long enough to grab his keys off the coffee table and then dart back out again. He ran down the stairs so fast it was a miracle he didn’t trip, and then he was out the front door and bolting for the nearest parking lot.

His black cab was easy to spot amongst all of the other cars and he threw himself into it, shaking as he tried to fit in the key and turn the ignition. He pulled out of the spot, then drove out onto the street, completely forgetting a seatbelt as he sped along. He was still careful not to hit anything, but he scanned across the street as he drove, keeping his eyes peeled for a little boy in red.

He had no idea how long he spent driving up and down the London streets, spending just a quarter of the time with his eyes on the road, the rest spent searching for any sign of Tord on the sidewalks. He checked grocery stores, parks, and even the school again, anywhere he knew Tord had been before and could walk to on his own. When that turned out nothing, he started to patrol random streets, wondering if Tord had wandered off, or had gotten lost going to his final destination. This method was desperate, but he had nothing else to go on, and he kept at it even as hopelessness started to press in on him.

As he drove up another narrow street and leaned against the window to get a better look, he saw something that nearly made his heart stop: the park he had stopped at with Patryk and Tord.

That day felt like eons ago now, when the evening sun had just started to touch the horizon as they sat and relaxed after their meeting with Bing. Paul distinctly remembered how uncomfortable he had been as Patryk sat down close to him and invited him to dinner alone, but beneath it had been an intense feeling of gratitude to Patryk, both for being with him that day and for inviting him to spend time together later on. Even f it turned out that Paul’s expectations for the evening had been altogether different from Patryk’s, a part of him was stillgrateful just for the thought of it.

He looked at the little park. It was earlier in the day than the last time he had been here, the sun not quite setting yet, and the brighter sunlight just made it clearer how worn-down and uncared for the square of land was. At the same time, it was still the same park he and Patryk had sat in together, while Tord had played on the playground, forgetting his troubles at school as he had run around and acted just like a normal kid, for once in his life. He had seemed so happy in that moment, carefree, probably the last time he had felt that way since Paul got home the next night and everything fell apart.

Paul blinked. He knew where he would find Tord. He knew, and he was afraid, but he started driving again, now with a destination in mind.

It did not take nearly as long as he thought it would before he parked the car just by the familiar side street, cutting off the engine and filling the car with a loud silence that rang in his ears. Under different circumstances, he would have taken this moment to ground himself and relax before getting out, but now he was too rushed, and he climbed out of the car with his heart still hammering and his knees still shaking, praying that he was right and had not brought himself here for no reason.

He was not aware of the walk from the cab to the bakery, only coming to as he touched the handle of the front door and started to push it open.

He knew this store by now. He knew the sights, the smells. He knew the blue-haired woman standing behind the counter, already raising her hand to greet him, just like he knew all of the sweets displayed in the glass case and the drinks sitting in the cooler.

And, of course, he knew the little boy in red, holding a dustpan and broom. Tord’s back was to him when he walked in, but when he turned around his eyes grew wide, and his grip on the broom faltered. He just managed to catch it before it could fall.

Before anyone could get a word out, Paul had rushed forward and dropped down, pulling Tord into a hug.

“You’re okay, you’re okay, holy shit, Tord,” he sobbed, squeezing his son tight against him and feeling the warmth of the small body up against his own. There was so much he should have been saying, but his mind was stuck on a loop so that the only thing he could think about was Tord, alive and unhurt and in his arms and  _okay_. Not kidnapped, not injured. Just right where he should have been.

He pulled back an inch, just enough that he could look Tord in the eyes as he spoke.

“Why did you do that?” he asked. “You know you’re not supposed to leave without telling anyone.” He did not mean to chastise Tord just yet, instead honestly looking for an explanation for the boy’s disappearance.

“I missed it,” Tord said. “And I knew you weren’t going to come back, so I just walked the way we always used to.”

Tord’s words made Paul’s heart ache, both in their honesty and their hopelessness. Still, what Tord had done was dangerous, and he was opening his mouth to tell him so when another voice made him pause.

“Paul.”

Paul turned his gaze to the front counter, remembering all at once why he had been avoiding this place for so long. Patryk stood there, eyes wide and expression unreadable, staring at Paul in silence for the moment. He was wearing a peach colored apron, Paul noticed, and his fingers were dusted white with flour, as well as a few places on his arms and clothes where the powder had managed to find its way.

“He just showed up earlier,” Patryk said, his words rushing out like a dam being broken open. “He wouldn’t tell us what he was doing here, and I didn’t know how to reach you, so I figured I would clock out earlier and drive him home first chance I got. He was doing his homework for a little while, but then he got bored and said he wanted to help, and I didn’t know what else to give him.” He raised his hands, flicking a small cloud of flour into the air. “I’m sorry, I hope you don’t mind.”

“What? No, no, I don’t. I don’t mind.” He looked down at Tord again, then back to Patryk. “Thank you for looking after him. I’m, I’m glad he knew somewhere safe to come to.”

Patryk nodded.

“Yeah. Me too,” he said.

That should have been the end of it then, Paul reasoned. Tord was safe, everyone knew where he was, the only thing left was to drive him home and give him a talking to when they got back. Only, he could not force himself to leave just yet, some voice in the back of his mind insisting that there was still something left for him to do. He looked from Tord, to the bakery, and up to Patryk, and the longer he sat there the clearer it became just what that thing was. Although he had spent weeks avoiding the truth, he now had to admit that he, too, had missed this place, and was ready to do anything to fix what he had broken.

He let go of Tord and stood up, walking the short distance to the counter, across from Patryk. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a flash of blue as Laurel disappeared into the kitchen, and from behind him he heard the sound of a broom as Tord returned to sweeping. Patryk stood on the other side, staring without saying a word, and Paul realized that this time, it was on him to be the first to speak.

“I’m sorry,” he blurted out. Patryk’s eyebrows raised but Paul barely noticed, too focused on getting out everything he needed to say to pay attention to anything else. “You were so kind to me that night, to have me over and make dinner and try to make a nice evening for us, and I am just so sorry that I ran out on you like I did, without an explanation or an apology or anything. I’m so sorry. I should have said something afterwards and apologized, but I was too scared to come back by then so I just didn’t and I’m sorry. You did so much and you deserved so much better than the way I treated you.” He breathed in. “I’m sorry, Patryk.”

Patryk took a moment to respond, which was a perfect amount of time for Paul to stress over whether he had worded that correctly, or if he was guilting Patryk into forgiveness. He had just wanted to admit that he had done wrong, but now that he had several seconds to rethink what he had said, he started to doubt his sincerity, going so far as to wonder whether this whole thing might have just been a plan to regain Patryk’s approval, and he started to feel sick even before Patryk had a chance to speak.

“You have nothing to apologize for, though,” Patryk said, the words making Paul start in surprise. “I’m the one who’s sorry. I was just so excited, I overstepped my boundaries and made you uncomfortable, and I never stopped to consider how you might feel about any of it. I just went with whatever felt right to me. You put your faith in me, and I abused that, and  _I’m_  sorry, Paul. You shouldn’t be apologizing, it’s me.”

Paul had been afraid that he had manipulated Patryk into forgiveness. Now, to hear Patryk apologizing back to him was too much, and he shook his head as he tried to understand what was going on.

“I don’t… That’s not right, Patryk.” He wanted forgiveness, that was all. He didn’t know what to do with an apology.

Patryk sighed. He looked first to Tord, still sweeping in the background, and then over his shoulder to the kitchen, although Laurel was still somewhere out of sight. His fingers opened like they were going to reach forward, but then he pulled them back, wrapping them together and holding them against himself.

“It wasn’t your fault,” he said. “I just… I’m sorry, Paul.”

Paul looked down at the counter. Patryk might have been half-right, he thought. He still felt guilty for what happened, and he doubted that anything Patryk could say would change that, but he wondered if it was wrong to pin all of it on himself. It was not as though he had chosen to have that panic attack, or any other that had come before it. And the root cause of them all, he would never have chosen for that to happen. Never.

And that was when it struck him that Patryk knew almost nothing of it, and he wondered if he could absolve some of his guilt by explaining why things had ended the way they did, not as an excuse but so that Patryk could finally know the whole story. For the first time ever, Paul wanted someone else to know, and he could think of no one better than the man standing across the counter from him.

“Can we talk in private?” he asked. “I just, I have some things I need to say.”

Patryk looked curious at that, but not excited. His hands were still clasped tight.

“Sure,” he said. “I have to keep working, but you can come into the back if you’d like. Just, ah, try not to touch anything. Health stuff, you know?”

“Yeah, I get it,” Paul said. He glanced back to Tord, who had taken a break from sweeping to look up at some of the decorations in the windows. Despite what had happened earlier, Paul doubted that he would disappear again.

Patryk led the way back into the kitchen. They passed Laurel on her way out, and she promised that she would keep an eye on Tord while Paul was away, a smile on her face that Paul could not quite decipher.

Walking into the kitchen, for a moment, felt like coming home, and it took Paul a moment to realize that it reminded him of Silje’s kitchen back at the base. Although it was far away and most likely destroyed by now, he could still remember from the few times he had visited the smells of food being prepared, and the sound of a roomful of people trying to accomplish a hundred tasks apiece.

It was much quieter here, with he and Patryk being the only ones present, but the familiar smell was still there, and with it came memories of Silje, and how she had tried so hard to keep them all safe. Whether or not she had been successful in the end was debatable, but the amount of effort she had put into the attempt was something Paul could not let himself forget, even if he had tried to push out every other memory from that time.

He stayed near the edge of the room while Patryk walked a bit further in, stopping next to a metal table that was pushed up against the wall. On it sat a large metal bowl nearly overflowing with dough. Patryk steadied the bowl with one hand, and with the other he dove his fist right into the center of the dough mound, causing it to deflate until it was manageable for Patryk to reach in and pull it out, then plop the whole thing onto the table.

“I have to turn this into buns to be frozen,” he said, “but we can talk while I work, if you’d like.”

“Yeah, that’s fine,” Paul said, leaning up against the wall. He found that he preferred it when Patryk was so focused on his work, pressing his hands down into the dough as he started to knead it across the tabletop. It struck Paul then that he had never actually seen Patryk cook before, and he realized now just how intense his expression became while he worked, his focus like that of a soldier preparing for war.

Paul was just glad that it was the bread receiving that kind of attention, and not he himself.

“So,” he started, “I thought I should tell you what happened the night Tord and I had to leave.”

Patryk glanced up at Paul, then refocused, rolling the dough over and over across the metal surface.

“I remember that,” he said. “Silje said you were both in danger.”

“But she never told you why? What actually happened?”

“No,” Patryk said. “I wondered, but after you left, there was never a good time to bring it up again.”

Paul nodded. It made sense, at least. Silje had always been good at keeping secrets, and while Paul never had a chance to ask her not to tell Patryk the truth, it was the type of thing that one would naturally want to keep private.

He took a breath through his mouth, then let it out of his nose. He half-wanted to pull out a cigarette, but he doubted it would be appreciated in the confined kitchen.

“They came in the middle of the night,” he said, before he had time to start doubting himself. Patryk kept his eyes on the dough. “I can’t even remember their faces now, just that they were soldiers, and they told me something was wrong. I must have worked with them in the past and trusted them, because I believed what they said instantly and got up. They didn’t give me time to put on my uniform or grab anything, just told me that I was needed in the generator room.

“I didn’t even start to think that  _that_  was suspicious, because there was this secret entrance in the room. If you slipped around behind some of the heavier machines and moved aside a board, there was—”

“Yeah, I know about that,” Patryk said.

“Oh.” The interruption made Paul pause for a moment, trying to remember where he had been going with it. “Right. Well, that was there, and I assumed that some patrol must have come back with important news, or someone who was leaving wanted some last-minute advice. Either way, I followed the other soldiers into the basement, and didn’t even think to ask them what was going on while we walked down.”

He swallowed.

“It was dark when we got down there. Really dark. They walked a few feet in and then they just disappeared into it, like ghosts. And me, I just followed behind them, because I was supposed to be the professional and I still believed that they were sincere. I was a couple feet in when the light from the door started to fade, and I turned around just as it shut completely. I ask what was going on, but no one answered, so I tried to run back to the door. I… I didn’t know how many of them were in there.”

It was getting harder for him to keep his thoughts in check and remember which order the events happened in, but he kept at it, forcing himself to focus and reason with what had happened.

“Someone grabbed me from behind.” Patryk paused, then returned his work. “I had no idea who it was, but they pinned my arms behind my back while someone else grabbed my legs. I was shouting by then, but nobody would answer me. I must have been yelling in their ears, we were so close, but they just didn’t care, and I couldn’t get any of them to listen, so I started lashing out.

“It felt like years, just constant fighting. Every time I managed to get rid of one, the others would hold on tighter and another would come to take their place. I wanted to fight back, and I tried to, but there were so  _many_  of them. They just kept coming and coming, and I still didn’t know how many there were and nothing I did was making them stop and I just… I wanted to keep fighting, but I couldn’t. I reached a point where I just couldn’t anymore. I didn’t have a choice.”

His breathing was speeding up, the memories too real now for him to stand to the side and watch them pass by. At the same time, his thoughts were getting cloudier, so that the details became more obscured the longer he tried to recall them.

“We ended up on the ground. I mean, they pushed me there, and then they only needed one to hold me down, the person who had my arms.” The cement floor had been cool against his stomach, although he could not remember when they had taken his shirt. “My clothes were gone. The person holding me, he, he leaned down.” The breath had ghosted over his ear, ticking his hair. It had smelled of bad whiskey. “And he said, he said…”

 _I’m the only one who understands you._  The words had been ringing in Paul’s head for seven years, but now that he had a chance to set them free, he could not take it, trapped in some sort of shackle of his own design.

He shook his head.

“It was Maxim,” he said, his voice cracking as he said the hateful name. “It was him. I realized that he had organized the whole thing, but by then it didn’t really matter, there was nothing I could do to stop it. He leaned over me and grabbed me again, and he… he…”

But it was too much. The crushing wave of memories threatened to drown Paul even as he struggled to reel it in, and at once he knew that he could not put words to what had happened next. With some difficulty, he was able to manage the before and after, but the main event, the reason he had set out to tell this story in the first place, he could not get through, not without things ending just like they had in Patryk’s apartment.

When he looked up and saw that Patryk had stopped kneading, though, that he was staring at Paul with mouth open and eyes wide, he realized that Patryk understood anyway.

“He did that to you?” Patryk asked. “He forced you to…”

“Yes,” Paul said. He looked down at the floor. “I don’t remember a lot of what happened afterwards. I managed to get away, and some idiot with a gun tried to stop me - it was still pitch black in there - and somebody ended up shooting something important, which is when the lights went out. That might have been before or after I got ahold of one, I’m not sure which.”

He took a stuttering breath.

“I shot Maxim with it.”

He glanced up. Patryk had not returned to his work, instead staring at Paul, his brows knit with concern. Still, he made no remark and did nothing to interrupt Paul’s story, which was, at least, coming to a close.

“In all the mayhem, I was able to drag him back to that little tunnel and take his clothes. Mine were gone by then, and all I could think was that I needed something on if I was going to get Tord. Then, somebody got the idea that I must have escaped, so I just followed them out. And then we were upstairs, and I bumped into you.” Actually, looking back, what had happened was much more forceful than a bump, but neither chose to comment on that.

“So Tord was the first thing you thought of?” Patryk asked.

“He was the only thing I could think about,” Paul said. He remembered that much distinctly. “It was like there were a thousand thoughts crowding my head at the same time, so I just picked one and made it as big as I could to crowd out all the others. And I convinced myself that Tord was in danger, and I had to protect him, and I started planning our escape so that I couldn’t think about anything else. Just him.” He had not even stopped to consider what would happen once they were out and alone in the world. All of his energy had been focused on the present, on getting to Tord and making sure he was safe. Everything else in the world could be set aside.

Patryk looked back to the dough. He pressed his hands into it, but did not return to the same rhythmic kneading as he had been doing before.

“Did you ever tell anyone what he did to you?” Patryk asked. “Like a doctor, or a therapist?”

Paul shrugged.

“There was never a good time for it. Right after we got out, I didn’t have any money, or even a last name. There was no one I could have gone to. Then, once Silje’s friends helped me get a few basic necessities, I was on my own, and I spent all of my time either working or taking care of Tord. So, I never had a chance.”

Patryk nodded, but he still seemed dissatisfied with the answer. He was still staring down, and he had started to chew his lip. When he spoke again, his voice was much quieter.

“So, when people get close to you, or, or touch you, does it remind you of that night?”

Paul’s stomach clenched. He realized that he should have seen this question coming and been prepared with some way to comfort Patryk, but he had nothing to offer but the truth.

“I guess,” he said. “It’s not like I think about it, really, but I do feel…” Uncomfortable? Scared? He had trouble thinking of a word that would not hurt Patryk’s feelings. “…nervous. When it just comes without warning.” He hoped that Patryk could understand that. He had been in the dark that night, too, he knew what it was like to be grabbed without even knowing there had been a person nearby.

Patryk held his hands on the dough a moment longer. The frown on his face deepened, and then he squeezed his eyes shut, stepping away from the table as he raised a hand to his face.

“Dammit.” His voice was not angry or sad, but defeated, coming out in a weak tone that seemed too quiet, even for the silent kitchen.

“Dammit.” It was louder, now, and when he pulled his hand down he left streaks of flour on his cheek. His eyes were glistening, and part of Paul wanted to comfort him, but he found himself frozen, unable to say or do anything as Patryk turned away, hands on his hips.

“I’m sorry, Paul,” he said. “God, I just, I’m so sorry. I wish… I can’t…  _Fuck_.” He rubbed at his eye as he finally looked back at Paul, just managing to hold back tears. “All those times, I didn’t think, you must have been so uncomfortable and I didn’t even notice, I’m… God, I’m so sorry.”

Even when what Patryk said was true, though, Paul found that he still did not want this. He had not come in here looking for apologies, and he had never hoped to see Patryk nearly cry.

“You don’t have to be sorry, though,” he insisted, stepping forward. “It’s my fault. I, I should have said something, it shouldn’t have just been on you to figure it out, I’m—”

“Stop, no. It’s not your fault, Paul.” Patryk’s voice was firmer. His eyes were still red, but the tears seemed less prepared to spill over, as though they had changed their mind all at once. “None of it is. What happened to you and the ways you’ve had to cope with it, none of that is one you. So, you don’t have to apologize for it.”

He ran a hand through his hair, letting out a small sigh as his shoulders drooped. He looked tired, Paul realized, and he wanted to help, but there was nothing he could think of to say in this moment.

“I’ve had feelings for you for a long time,” Patryk continued. “Ever since you left. And I spent so much time imagining what it would be like when we met, I forgot that it could actually end up any different, that you could have your own things you’re still dealing with.” He looked up to the ceiling, a tiny chuckle escaping him. “I even forgot that you actually might not return my feelings. It’s almost funny, the most obvious flaw in my plan and I never once thought about it.” He looked back to Paul, still laughing, but he stopped as their eyes met.

Paul knew that he was blushing, the pink heat warming his cheeks even as he looked away from Patryk.

“I mean, it’s not necessarily that I don’t,” he said, aware that it sounded confusing but unable to organize his jumble of thoughts well enough to form anything more coherent.

“What, do you mean you…” Patryk could not finish the sentence. Paul was glad, because he knew that anything the other man said at this point would cause him to turn three shades redder than he already was.

“I don’t know,” he said, still looking away. “I didn’t really think about it before, and I haven’t considered it at all since you said it. But, I’m pretty sure, I mean, there might be a possibility.” That was the truth, as well as he knew it, and putting it out gave him the confidence at last to look Patryk in the eye. “I still need time to think it through. You surprised me, and that was part of why I had to leave, but it wasn’t because I disliked the idea of it. Plus, I, uh, kind of liked the dancing.”

Paul was not sure what kind of reaction to expect, so he was glad when Patryk seemed to relax. The corners of his mouth turned upwards into a easy smile, and the tension seemed to dissolve from his back and shoulders. He did nothing loud or excessive, and Paul found himself grateful for it.

“Okay,” Patryk said. “We can work with that. You just, take as much time as you need, to think about it. And no matter what you decide, I’m still going to be here for you, if you want me. I swear it.”

Paul nodded. He just needed time to work through this. Time, and a head that was clear of guilt and stress. With that, he knew he could manage the rest.

He glanced back to the front of the bakery. He couldn’t see Tord, but he knew that by now the boy would probably be getting antsy, just waiting for Paul to return.

“I should probably get Tord home soon,” he admitted. “School in the morning and all.”

“Oh, right.” The smile on Patryk’s face fell a bit, less in sadness than in acceptance. He stepped back to the lump of bread dough still sitting on the table, then looked at his hands and thought better of it. They were clean now, all of the flour deposited onto his face and hair. “We’ll talk again?”

“Of course,” Paul said without missing a beat. “Soon, I hope.”

“Right.” Patryk looked down at his hands again, the movement drawing Paul to them as well. For the first time, he took notice of Patryk’s fingers. They were long and elegant despite numerous burn scars, more likely picked up from the oven than any time in his military career.

He didn’t know exactly how his feelings on Patryk were going to play out, or if he was going to wake up in the morning and regret that this whole conversation ever happened, shut himself away to pretend that he had not revealed so much of himself in so short a time. He did know, though, that there was one thing he wanted in that moment, more than anything else.

He stretched his hand forward, so that it was halfway between the men.

“Can I hold your hand?”

Patryk said nothing as he stared for a moment, his answer coming in a slight head nod before he reached forward and clasped Paul’s hand in his own, their fingers lacing together.

Paul wanted this moment to last, as he spent it memorizing the feeling of Patryk’s hand in his own. Despite his delicate-looking fingers, his palm was actually rough, but Paul found that he liked it, the texture adding something interesting without going to the point of discomfort.

And he was warm. So warm, like blankets on a cold day, or freshly brewed coffee. Now that Paul was holding on, he found it difficult to let go, and he gave Patryk’s hand a small squeeze, surprised and grateful when he felt one in return.

“I’m serious, Paul,” Patryk said. His voice was quiet. He looked down at their hands. “No matter what you choose, I’ll always be here for you and Tord.”

“Thank you,” Paul said. There was nothing more to it. There did not need to be, both of them spent on words for the night and trying not to think too hard yet about what was to come in the future. And in the simple happiness that rose out of something like holding hands, neither of them could start to think of anywhere they would rather have been.


	12. Dents

Patryk remembered being in elementary school, being made to sit for hours on end while the teacher droned on and on about subjects he didn’t care about and facts that would have no bearing on his life later on. He had spent the time doodling on the margins of his paper and swapping notes with his friends, but that was never quite enough to make up for the hard wooden chair and the incessant ticking of the clock just over the classroom door.

Sitting here in Silje’s room reminded him of that, except it was worse, because without paper to draw on his entertainment boiled down to tapping his foot on the cement floor.

He had spent his first couple days in hiding looking around and taking in every detail, but there was nothing left for him to look at without outright invading Silje’s privacy. The room reminded him of her office. Everything had its place: the desk was fully organized, the bed made every morning. Patryk had glanced into her closet a couple times while she got ready for work in the mornings, and he could see her uniforms clean and hanging, straight enough that they could have walked out and fought a war on their own.

There was not much in the way of decoration in the room, besides a few photographs that he had now spent hours staring at and analyzing. They mostly pictured a small town and rolling landscapes, and very few had any people in them. Those that did had them caught in a moment of surprise, eyes wide and mouths open in some sentence they would never finish. Patryk had scrutinized each one, looking for curly hair and wide builds, but they were either too small or blurry for him to say whether they matched.

Besides that, the only things worth mentioning were the clock and the wooden chair Patryk sat on, sometimes close to the desk so he could put his feet up, other times close to the wall. There had been a white crib in the corner for a few days, before Silje silently dragged it out with her one morning. Patryk never asked what she did with it.

And the clock, of course, ticked on and on, his only proof that time passed at all while he sat in the windowless room and waited for Silje’s return.

He knew that the world outside the room had to be changing. He heard the shouting, always growing louder at night, and the occasional burst of gunshots before all fell deathly silent. Silje always returned at 9:30 every night, and sometimes she would give him an update on who was fighting who or where the latest battle was taking place. Often, though, she would just shake her head as she came in, too tired to describe the things she had seen that day. Patryk never pressed her for details, and only listened as long as she was interested in talking.

At the same time, his curiosity was driving him mad, and he could not help the burst of excitement he felt every day when he he knuckles against the door. At 9:30 sharp, the noise came through and he jumped off the chair, racing across the room and pulling the door open without a moment’s hesitation.

“Welcome ba—”

It was a man. An old man, wearing a suit. He strode into the room, ignoring Patryk’s feeble attempts to block the way and pushing inside, until he had walked past Patryk completely and now stood in the middle of the room like he had been there a million times before. He waved a hand behind him, not bothering to turn as he spoke.

“You should close the door, Patryk,” he said. “They’ll kill you if they see you here.”

Patryk was hesitant to close himself inside with a stranger, but given the situation he had to weigh and compare the danger. The man was shorter than Patryk and older by several decades, and his suit made him seem better prepared to sit and read a Sunday newspaper than launch himself into a fight. On the other hand, the shouting outside had started up again, and there was no doubt that a passing eye could turn into the whole army outside in the door in minutes.

Although he was still not entirely comfortable with it, Patryk shut the door.

As he turned around and allowed himself a better look at the newcomer, Patryk realized that he recognized him: this was the man who had appeared the night of Paul’s escape, distracting the horde of enraged soldiers just long enough for Patryk to break free and shoot out the lights. Whereas before, he had seemed powerful with the eyes of all the soldiers on him, he seemed more feeble now, his knees popping as he sank down onto Patryk’s chair. Patryk found that he almost pitied the man, enough that he didn’t make a fuss about the chair and resigned himself to leaning against the desk while he waited for whatever came next.

“You’ve been cowering here all week?”

All of the pity rushed out of Patryk’s system at once, and he felt his cheeks grow hot.

“We’re waiting,” he said, “until it’s safe to go out again. It was Silje’s idea.”

“No surprise,” the man said. “Once the maternal instincts are there, you can’t just will them away overnight. I’m sure you think you’re doing her a service by letting her care for you, however temporary it might be.”

“Hey!” Patryk cried out, clenching his fists. “That’s not what it’s like at all, Silje’s got people to protect her, so it’s safe for her to go out. If I tried to leave, I would be all on my own, and only an idiot would wander into an angry mob like that. We’re just waiting until things have calmed down again.”

The man stared at Patryk wearing a mild expression, letting the pause drag on long enough that Patryk’s anger turned to confusion and then discomfort. It struck him that he still had no idea who this man was or what he was doing here, but he felt it was not his place to ask, and instead he waited for the man to break the silence on his own.

“You’ll be waiting a long time then,” he said at last. “Or short, depending on how things happen to fall apart. Either way, the Red Army as you knew it is over, and what is left is only going to lead to greater and greater violence, until, I fear, the building itself collapses around us.”

He said it so matter-of-factly that Patryk might have imagined the words peeling off the page of a textbook. The discrepancy forced him to take a moment to fully grasp the meaning of the man had said, and even when he’d managed that, he still needed another moment to piece together some sort of reaction.

“What the hell does that mean, it’s over?” he asked. “There are still soldiers here, and supplies. Once things calm down, the army will still be the same.”

“No, it won’t,” the man said. “There might be a few of the same people, sure. But after everything they have experienced, you really believe they will think the same way they once did, or be prepared to fight for the same cause?” He said it like a question, but did not wait for an answer. “They won’t. Whatever comes next will have to be rebuilt from the ground up, the foundation built out of survivors.”

Patryk shook his head. He understood what the man was saying, but it was an idea so strange to him that he was struggling to connect it to reality. Joining the Red Army, he had imagined the commitment he was making would be to something constant, and knowing that it could change so suddenly was hard for him to take in all at once.

The man, though, seemed to take Patryk’s silence for lack of comprehension.

“These people,” he said, “they’re like ants, really. They need a purpose, and someone to look up to. Without that, they’re bound to get lost, wander in circles until they fall apart all on their own.” He finally looked away from Patryk, gazing towards the blank gray wall behind him. “They used to have someone. Paul, he was like a leader to them. Then Maxim, young, tough, hot-headed guy, came and disrupted that balance. And rather than fight back, Paul let it happen, which meant that the soldiers were left without that person to look up to, and they panicked.” He looked back to Patryk. “They need someone new.”

Patryk’s eyes widened and his pace quickened, but then the man laughed.

“Don’t flatter yourself so much,” he said. “You’re a good soldier, Patryk, but you’re not the kind of person that they’ll ever look up to. No, we need someone to carry on not only Paul’s traits as a leader, but his legacy.”

It took Patryk a only a moment to understand where this talk was headed.

“Tord?” he guessed. “You want him to be a soldier when he grows up?”

“Exactly.” The man seemed to relax then, as though he had just been waiting to see if they were on the same page. “It’s what he was born for, really. With his mother’s strength and his father’s sense of duty, he could easily become the greatest soldier this army has ever known. And once he’s won the support of the soldiers, he could one day find himself as the next general.”

Patryk’s eyebrows furrowed.

“But, Tord is a baby, though,” he said. “It’s going to be a long time before he’s ready to rally anyone, much less run the army.”

“And it will be some time before the soldiers are ready to be rallied,” the man said. “One he’s back, he will be given plenty of time to grow, learn, and train, so that by the time he’s a young man he will already be one of our most skilled soldiers.”

Patryk blinked. The image of a baby, fast asleep in Paul’s arms, was still too fresh in his mind for him to see Tord as any sort of military leader.

“Who are you?” he suddenly asked, surprised at himself for not doing so sooner.

The man’s answer was interrupted by a knock at the door.

“It’s me,” Silje said. The door opened, and was immediately taken aback to be looking at two set of eyes instead of one.

Her surprise did not immobilize her, though, as she strode through the door and shut it behind her, the loud sound the one indication so far of the anger building inside of her.

“What is this?” she demanded, looking to Patryk. He shrank under her gaze, clutching the edge of the desk. “Why did you let him in?”

“I, um.” Patryk knew that there was nothing he could say to appease her, and he was too embarrassed to admit that he had forgotten about their agreement, that neither would open the door unless they heard the other’s voice first.

“Silje,” the man said, breaking into the awkward silence. He stood from the chair and stepped forward, offering her his hand. “I’m glad to see you.”

Silje looked down at the hand. For a moment, it seemed that she would ignore it, but then she reached forward and grasped it, squeezing it in a tight handshake.

“General Alexander,” she growled.

Patryk started at the name.

“ _He’s_  the general?”

Both of the older people turned to look at him, and he immediately regretted his outburst.

“You’ve been here how long, a year, Patryk?” Silje said. “And you didn’t even know who you’ve been fighting for?”

The general, on the other hand, looked amused.

“Oh, it can’t entirely be his fault, Silje,” he said, “I don’t spend nearly as much time among the troops as I used to. More pressing matters behind the scenes, you know how it is.” He glanced at Patryk for a moment, and his serious expression returned. “Patryk and I were just discussing one such matter, actually. Your son, my grandchild. He belongs here, and I would like for us to work together to bring him home.”

Patryk looked to Silje. Her expression was neutral, but her back was rigid and she had her arms crossed in front of her chest. She stayed silent.

“How do you want us to help?” Patryk asked.

“It’s simple. Get out of here and find him, then bring him back. For two people of your skill, it should be no trouble at all tracking him down, and by the time you come back I am sure that the worst of the violence will be over with. I can even show you a secret way out of the base, so that you don’t have to risk walking through the main entrance.”

Patryk had been half-considering the idea before, but that was what caught his attention, as the prospect of not having to sit in this room another day hit him full-force. That, along with the possibility of seeing Paul and Tord again, had him nodding yes as he stepped forward.

“I’ll do it,” he said. “I’ll go get them and make sure they’re safe.”

“Patryk,” Silje said. He turned to her, and realized that she had not moved, still in her firm stance. She glanced towards Alexander, then back to Patryk. “Do you really think what you’re doing is safe? There are soldiers all around the area, and you won’t have any protection.”

Patryk felt a flash of disappointment before realization hit him.

“So come with me,” he said, stepping closer to her. “We’ll watch out for each other, and when we do find them we’ll do it together.”

Still, Silje seemed hesitant. Alexander cleared his throat.

“It would be better for the two of you to work together,” he said. “But if there’s a specific reason you can’t go now, Silje, I could be sure to make accommodations for you.”

Silje’s eyes snapped up to him, and Patryk saw for the briefest moment a glint of fear in her eyes. Then it was gone, replaced with her normal cool expression, and Patryk had to wonder if he’d imagined it.

“No,” she said. “We can leave now. I was worried about what my cooks would do in my absence, but I’m sure they’ll manage just fine.”

“Glad to hear it,” Alexander said. He walked towards the door, opening it just a crack so he could peer out. He looked back to Patryk and Silje. “In that case, I would urge you to leave now. We have a window of time right now where we’re unlikely to bump into anyone on the way, and we should be able to get to the tunnel without any altercations.”

Patryk was surprised that they were expected to leave right away, without time even to gather supplies for the road. He turned to Silje, wondering how she felt about it, but she did not return his gaze, turning around instead and walking back into her room. She stopped at the photographs stuck to the wall, and one by one she pulled them off, peeling off the bits of tape stuck to the backs before folding them and sliding each one into her pocket. Patryk wanted to ask what she was doing, knowing that she would have to hang them up again once they returned, but he stayed silent. When she was done, she walked towards the door, and Patryk knew there was nothing left for him but to follow her into the hall.

Patryk’s heart skipped a beat when he saw two uniformed soldiers standing just outside the door, but Alexander approached them casually, and they made no move towards either Patryk or Silje.

“My guards,” Alexander said, gesturing to the men. One of them was much shorter than the other, and Patryk could have sworn he recognized him, but he could not manage to put a name to the face. “They’ll be escorting us to the exit. If there’s any trouble, you’re to take cover behind them.”

Patryk nodded, trying not to imagine what the general could mean by trouble.

After a week of sitting still, it was strange to walk through the halls again, and it left him feeling free while at the same time far too exposed. Although the time he had spent in Silje’s room was nowhere near long enough for him to forget the layout of the base at all, there was still something unfamiliar about it now, a feeling that sat at the back of his mind and refused to let him relax as they walked down the empty corridors.

He disliked being in the open like this. The lights of the hallway seemed to stare down at him and broadcast his position, while the relative emptiness of the hall meant that there would be nowhere for him to hide if trouble started. He trusted Alexander had gotten the timing right, and that the guards would put up a fight if trouble came, but he could not help the feeling of worry that continued to nag at him as they walked.

It didn’t help all of the little details he started to notice as they went along, scrapes in the walls he had never seen before, or dents in the pipes. It might have been that these details had been present all along, and he’d been too distracted b his duties to notice them. His brain kept insisting that they were new, though, born in the days he had spent locked away from the rest of the world. There was also the problem of the yelling, raised voices that would erupt sometimes and then disappear, only to reawaken minutes later. They were too far away for Patryk to know who they were or what they were saying, but that only made his discomfort worse, and in his head he kept begging them to calm down.

At last, they came to what looked like a closet door. One of the guards stepped in and then disappeared, swallowed by the darkness.

“Give him a minute,” Alexander said. “The light switch is further in that you’d expect it to be, always takes people a minute to find it. This, if you didn’t know, is the generator room.” There was no sign on the door to indicate as much, Patryk noted, but from the sounds of heavy machinery inside, he could think of nothing else it could have been. “You’ll make your way through the secret entrance embedded in the back wall. Only a few people know about it, so despite its length you should be safe going through it until you’re outside. From there, you should be able to make it out of the territory on your own.”

“And once we find Tord, what do you intend for us to do?” Silje asked.

“Just bring him back here, where he belongs,” Alexander said.

“And Paul?” she pressed.

Alexander paused for a moment.

“Tord is your first priority,” he said.

Patryk was about to ask for clarification, but then the lights of the room came on and Alexander was ushering them inside, closing the door behind them. Patryk had only a moment to take in the heavy machines and innumerable control panels before he was being guided to the back of the room.

“Behind the main generator,” Alexander said, pointing to the largest machine, stationed up against the back wall, “you’ll find the crawlspace. It might be a bit of a squeeze, but I expect you’ll both fit. It leads directly to the surface, so just keep going straight and you should be fine.”

He paused just before they reached it.

“You know, Silje,” he said, “I wonder if it would be better for Patryk to go on his own. I know how important your kitchen is to you, and I am sure that he would be able to handle this on his own.”

Patryk was surprised and slightly hurt by the suggestion, but that was nothing compared to the shock on Silje’s face as she was at last offered her own choice on the matter. She paused where she stood, glancing between the men, and Patryk realized that she really was considering letting Patryk go off on his own. He found himself hurt by it, despite knowing that he could have handled such a thing himself, but he stayed quiet as he waited for her response.

It was thanks to her prolonged silence that they realized the shouting was getting louder.

Patryk looked to the closed door. He could hear the sounds come bouncing up the corridors, and the echoing made it difficult to tell exactly how far away the source was from them. It was clear, though, that the voices were getting louder.

“Do they know we’re here?” she demanded, the accusation present in her voice.

“They shouldn’t,” Alexander said. He seemed concerned. “You should go, now. It’s not safe for you to be here anymore.”

Patryk could have laughed at the familiarity of the phrase, were his heart not pounding in his chest as he listened to the raised voices, the sounds of boots smacking through the concrete halls. They were coming to the generator room. Patryk wasn’t sure how he could know something like that, but he was certain.

“Get going,” Alexander said, starting to push them towards the generator. Patryk’s legs started working a moment later and he was able to walk on his own, but he still glanced over his shoulder to the door. The guards had taken up positions on either side of it, their weapons drawn and ready. There was no fear in their eyes. “Find Tord and bring him back. Do whatever it takes.”

“And Paul too, right?” Patryk asked. He could see the gap behind the generator now. He would have to press himself up against the wall if he was to fit in it, and there were several pipes and wires he would have to maneuver around if he was to make it though. It was possible, though, and at the end of it he could just see a panel embedded in the wall, which had to be the door to the tunnel.

“Tord is your main priority,” Alexander said. “The army cannot survive without him.” He started pushing them forward again, but this time Patryk kept his feet planted.

“But you still want us to bring back Paul as well, right?” he pressed. He was just realizing that something about this didn’t feel right to him. “He’s just as important as Tord. He’s one of your best soldiers, after all.”

“He  _was_ ,” Alexander said.

Patryk narrowed his eyes at him. The older man did not flinch.

“This is an order, soldier,” he said evenly. “You are to go out and find my grandson and bring him back here. Nothing is to get in your way. If Paul tries to stop you in your mission, then he is a traitor and should be treated as such. Otherwise, deal with him however you like.”

And before Patryk could say another word on the matter, a heavy pounding came through the door. Everyone turned around to look at it. The guards raised their guns.

Alexander again pushed them forward, and this time Patryk allowed it to happen.

“Now, while you still have time,” Alexander said. “Just get out of here. Go!”

Patryk found himself being squeezed into the narrow space, and there was nowhere for him to go but forward, as a moment later Silje was pressed in beside him as well. They crept through inch by inch, stepping over pipes and under wires, the noise of the generator at last punctured by the sound of the door bursting open and what must have been a thousand people pouring into the room at once. There was still more yelling, too much for Patryk to know who was there or what they wanted, but the roar alone made it clear what kind of mob they were facing.

It was only once they reached the tunnel entrance and Patryk had crawled inside that the first gunshots started. The first one made him jump and bang his head on the very low ceiling, but after that he quickly grew used to them and continued forward without a pause, listening as the violence continued behind them. He was glad that the entrance was blocked by the generator, as he could not have bared to look back and see what sort of mess they were leaving behind.

A minute into their crawl, he heard a scream. Still, he kept moving.

Patryk wished they had asked more questions before venturing in, like what this tunnel had been built for in the first place, or how long it was. Once the light of the generator room had faded behind them, it became pitch black, and within a minute he had no idea where they were relative to the rest of the base. They were heading up at a slight incline, but besides that he knew nothing, and the ascent continued, into some far off, dark place that was known only by the one person who hadn’t come along. He thought a couple of times of asking Silje for her thoughts on the matter, but her constant silent presence made him decide it would be best not to.

He was glad when the shouting faded away behind them. Then, worried, so he tried not to think about it too much.

When the silence and the darkness became too much to bear, he at last spoke up.

“I’m sorry about pulling you away from your cooks,” he said. “Do you really think they’ll be okay without you? We weren’t even able to give them a warning.”

“Oh, they’ll be fine,” Silje said. “I’ve already talked to them about what to do if I’m not able to make it for any number of days, nobody they serve should notice any difference. And I trust them to get out safely if things do start to fall apart, they might not be the most competent bunch but I’ll be damned if I didn’t teach them how to survive, at least.”

“Oh. I’m glad,” Patryk said. He wasn’t sure how else to respond. Silje’s thoughts were not the ones he had expected.

Silje sighed. “I lied to the general. I wasn’t worried about my cooks.”

“So why did you want to stay?” Patryk asked.

“I was still waiting to hear from my contacts,” she said. “Our plan was that once Paul arrived, they would send word to me here, and we would be able to communicate and figure out the next step for him. Now that we’ve left, my contact won’t know where to find us. Paul could arrive days before we even hear about it, and if plans change at all in that time we won’t have any control over them.”

“But we’ll get to them soon, won’t we?” Patryk asked. His heart gave a little flutter at the thought of it. “We’ll just go the same way Paul went.”

“It depends,” Silje said. “We cannot risk anyone’s safety by potentially leading soldiers to my contact’s location. If they try to follow us, then we’re going to have to do whatever it takes to get them off our trail, and it’s hard right now to say how long that could take. We’ll go as soon as we can, but we have to make sure that we’re not putting anyone in danger first.”

Patryk wished they could stop and face each other while they talked, but he knew that it was more important to keep moving and put as much distance between themselves and the base as possible.

“But once the coast is clear, we’ll see them again?” he asked.

“Yes,” Silje said. “That much I can promise you.”

That small comfort was the one thing Patryk had to hold onto as they continued to crawl through the tunnel, until at last he saw a faint light up ahead. They pushed towards it, and then through it, opening a grate into the middle of the woods. Once he was sure there was no one around, Patryk climbed out, then stepped aside to make way for Silje while he took a moment to look around.

It was hard to tell exactly where they were, but he could guess they were somewhere south of the base, judging by the heavily forested terrain. Looking around, he couldn’t see any definite sign of the base nearby, but he didn’t let himself feel comfortable with that yet, knowing that its carefully crafted camouflage could have accounted for that. There was also the issue of other soldiers possibly prowling around the forest, and as they started to walk they each kept careful eye out for anyone planning an ambush.

“Once we do find Paul,” he said, “do you think it’s going to be hard to convince him to come back? He didn’t really leave here on a positive note.”

“It would be impossible,” Silje said, “which is why we’re not going to try.”

Patryk glanced at her. He found himself unsurprised at the statement, but the remaining soldier part of his brain insisted that he should fight her on it.

“The general said he wants Tord back, for the sake of the army. Without him, it’s going to fall.”

“Then let it fall,” Silje said. “Everything has to come to an end some day.”

Patryk nearly tripped over a perilous tree root, but managed to right himself just in time and resume walking normally.

“Won’t you miss it?” he asked. “I mean, it was your home for a long time.”

“The kitchen was my home,” Silje said. “I joined the army because it guaranteed me a kitchen for the rest of my life. Now, if there is no one left to cook for, then there is no need for a kitchen, and no need for a cook.” She breathed out slowly. “I will miss the people, certainly. But there will be others to cook for, and other kitchens to work in. I will move on.”

“Oh.” It struck Patryk that he had never once asked why Silje had joined in the first place. Now, to know that there was such a simple reason, it took him a moment to process it.

He glanced up at the star laden sky.

“So, we go and find Paul and Tord. Then what?” he asked. They had no money, no identities. They were a bit like ghosts, wandering aimlessly through the woods without any grand plan or purpose, simply existing as they wandered through space and time.

“Then we’ll be together,” Silje said.

Patryk glanced at her. She looked strong in the twilight, stronger than he had ever seen her before, and he realized how safe he felt, to be walking through these woods with this woman by his side.

He imagined what it would be like if Paul were walking on his other side, so that they really were together.

 _Together_. The word leapt through his mind and played with his heart, in a way that made him both want to smile and cry. He couldn’t wait until they made it to this strange friend, and he and Paul finally had a moment together far away from the oppressive air of the army base. Maybe they would sit in and chat late into the night, or go on walks that went hours longer than they were supposed to. Either one was find by him, so long as it meant having Paul nearby again.

He sighed and looked down to make sure he wasn’t about to trip on anything. Just a few days, he promised himself. He could wait that long.


	13. Cracks

That night, after Paul and Tord got home and Paul promised that they would talk in the morning about what had happened, he at last remembered to call the school and tell them that Tord had been found and was safe. Because no one was waiting around in the office for the news, he didn’t get a call back until the next morning, but the secretary thanked him for letting them know and promised that the incident would remain confidential.

As soon as he put the phone down, it rang again, and the caller ID told him it was Hillary.

She informed him that, after he had left, the committee had unanimously agreed that he should be in charge of getting a cake for the coming dinner. She told him the address for their preferred bakery, and while he thanked her for it, he never bothered to write it down, now that he knew that walk as well as the one to his own apartment.

It almost made him feel cocky, walking back into the same shop he had been in so many times before. If Patryk noticed, he didn’t say anything, although there was an amused smile on his face as he wrote down the order.

“Didn’t you first come here because of one of these parties?” he asked as he jotted down the last details.

“Yeah, they needed cupcakes,” Paul said, surprised as he thought back to it. So much had happened in the months since then, looking back on it felt almost like peering into a different lifetime. “It’s the same idea this time, but I guess they wanted something more official, since it’s the end of the school year. Special thank you dinner for the teachers or something.”

“Did you like the first one you went to?” Patryk asked.

It took Paul a moment to even remember the last event, but as he did, all that came to mind was his awkward wandering around and his disastrous encounter with Bing. He had, to some extent, tried to block the whole thing out, but now it came back to him full force, and his heart hammered as he thought of it. For a moment, he thought of making up some excuse about Tord needing him or something, but he decided to push through.

“Not really,” he admitted. “Parties aren’t my kind of thing, I guess.”

“So you’re not looking forward to this next one, then?” Patryk asked. If he was concerned, his voice didn’t give it away, but with his brown eyes on Paul it was clear he was interested in Paul’s answer.

“No,” Paul said, his voice quieter than he meant it to be. “I mean, I think this one will be better, but I still don’t want to go. I’ll probably just find somewhere to sit down through most of it.” Doing nothing had to be an improvement over antagonizing Tord’s teachers, at least.

Patryk nodded. He looked down at the sheet of paper he’d taken notes on, then folded it in half and slid it into his apron pocket.

“If you don’t want to be alone, I could go with you,” he said. “As a friend, I mean. Or, or whatever you want, however you want us to be. I could just be there for you, stay with you. If you’d like.”

Patryk’s stuttering brought a small smile to Paul’s face. It was almost endearing, to see his composure slip away because of such an innocent suggestion, and Paul found himself grateful to see how hard the other man was trying.

“I mean, I was already planning on bringing Tord,” he said. “But you can come too, if you feel like it.”

Patryk smiled.

“I’d love to,” he said.

Paul told him the date and location of the dinner, and then they spent a few more minutes talking before he left, just chatting about their days. In the course of the conversation and the days that followed it, neither of them realized that they hadn’t said whether they were going as friends or something else, but the reality was that it wouldn’t have made a difference either way.

It didn’t matter much in the present either because, despite Patryk agreeing to go, Paul’s nervousness about the event did not wane, and only seemed to get worse as the days passed. So long as he kept himself busy, he was usually able to avoid thinking about it, but it became harder during lulls, when his mind would start to wander and picture all of the ways in which the night could go wrong. The one that always first came to mind was that it would be a repeat of the first night, and Paul would drive the wedge further between himself and Tord’s teachers, the only people that had any real shot at making his son’s life any better. After that, though, his mind would get more creative. Maybe he was mistaken with what he was supposed to get from the bakery, and on realizing this all of the other parents would come to hate him more than they already did. Maybe he would drink too much and run to the bathroom, only to pass out and bang his head on something.

Maybe people would assume he and Patryk were a couple, and it would make Patryk so uncomfortable that he would leave and never speak to Paul again. The list went on.

The thoughts became more frequent the closer the night came, and on the day of Paul found himself able to think of little else, his mind caught on what-ifs and worst case scenarios. When Patryk pulled up in front of their apartment block, Paul was nearly shaking, but he still managed to get himself and Tord out the door without forcing the other man to wait for too long. Two stories down, he realized that he had forgotten to lock their door, so he had to run back up and take care of that before dashing down again, continuing at a similar speed the whole way through the complex, slowing down just a bit to account for Tord’s shorter legs.

Patryk smiled as Paul climbed in, glancing back just once to make sure Tord could get in with the large cake box sitting in the seat beside him. Once he was sure that both cake and boy could sit together safely, he turned back to Paul.

“Hey,” he said, a soft smile already appearing. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m good,” Paul said automatically. He winced at how artificial it sounded, and by the concerned look in Patryk’s eyes, he hadn’t sounded very convincing. He tried again. “I mean, not great, but that’s pretty standard, you know?” He smiled like he was trying to crack a joke, although no one found it very funny.

“Oh.” Patryk glanced to Tord again, waiting in the back seat, and then back to Paul. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Paul shrugged. He appreciated the offer, but he had little experience talking to anyone about his anxieties, and he had a feeling that trying to summarize them would only lead to confusion on both ends of the conversation.

“Maybe,” he said. “But you can go ahead and start driving now, if you want. We probably don’t want to be too late.”

If Patryk noticed the small quaver in Paul’s voice, he didn’t comment on it, instead doing as he was advised and pulling out onto the street. Paul was grateful that he didn’t push the issue, but it soon became clear that he didn’t know what to talk about now, and the first couple minutes of the ride passed in an uncomfortable silence. As the time stretched on, Paul became aware that Tord was glaring daggers in the back of his neck. The boy was feeling impatient with him, Paul could gather that much, but that didn’t give him any better idea how to proceed. The combination of uncomfortable silence and intense judgement, though, gave him just enough push to say something.

“I’m nervous,” he said. “It seemed like there’s a lot of ways things can go wrong tonight. Like, I’ll do something else stupid in front of Tord’s teachers. Or I’ll panic about something and everyone will see it happen. Just, little things. They don’t matter much overall, but I’m still worried about them and I can’t make myself stop.”

It felt better to say it than he had expected. At the same time, he was nervous about hearing Patryk’s response, and he found himself glancing over several times, while Patryk’s gaze remained fixed on the road ahead.

“I can understand why you would feel like that,” he said at last. “And I’m guessing it won’t help if I just tell you that any of it is unlikely, right?”

Paul nodded.

“Right,” Patryk said. “So, let’s have a plan. Once we get there, we’ll stick together, no getting separated. And if you ever start to feel too anxious, you just let me know, and we’ll leave. Doesn’t matter what we’re doing, I’ll find some way to get us out of it. Sound good?”

“Yeah,” Paul said. “Thank you.”

While he had to wonder if he would even let himself tell Patryk he was feeling uncomfortable, some part of him was grateful to have a plan ready. It did do something to make him feel more secure, knowing that, even if the future was impossible to predict, they could at least be prepared for the most likely scenarios.

He leaned back in his seat, trying to get himself to relax a bit, and as he did so his gaze shifted towards Patryk, still focused on the road. That fact worked to Paul’s benefit, as he was given a moment just to appreciate the man beside him, without fear of being noticed or making the moment awkward at all.

He realized, not for the first time, but for some reason more clearly now, just how lucky he was to have Patryk in his life. When they had first met all those years ago, Patryk had been a new recruit and Paul, somewhat aware of his shaky ground within the ranks of the army, had seen someone who didn’t deserve to go through the same things that he had. Not long after that, Patryk had proved that he didn’t need Paul to look after him, and that the reverse was almost true. Paul didn’t  _need_  Patryk watching his back, per se, but he had to appreciate that extra sense of security it brought him.

And, as much as Paul didn’t need to have Patryk around, Patryk needed him to an even less extent, a fact that had probably been true since they first met one another. Paul had to remark on the fact that he had no idea why Patryk chose to spend time with him, nor why he made any effort to ensure Paul was comfortable when anything else would have been so much easier. It was a question that regularly plagued his mind at night when he was trying to sleep, but also one that he knew he could never ask, both for fear that such a forward question would make Patryk uncomfortable and that he had no way of knowing what the answer would be.

His hesitance to bring up the topic did nothing to lessen his gratitude to Patryk for staying by his side, though, and the longer he thought about it the more he came to realize that this was a person whom he wanted to be with for a long time, possibly forever. Going into any situation like this, while still frightening, actually felt possible when he had Patryk with him.

He looked down at his hands, sitting in his lap. Beyond Patryk’s presence, he still wasn’t sure what he wanted out of this relationship, and it struck him that his uncertainty might last a very long time if he let things simply continue on as they had been going. Not that he was unhappy where they were, but he knew that he felt something was missing, and Patryk himself deserved a definitive answer sooner or later.

He turned to the windshield just as Patryk pulled into a parking space. With Patryk nearby, he felt like he could do anything, and he wondered if that could include trying something new.

“Alright,” Patryk said as he turned off the car and unbuckled his seatbelt. He didn’t immediately get out, though, turning his body a tad so he was facing Paul and leaving one hand on the steering wheel. “How are you feeling? Ready to go in?”

Paul looked down at his hands again, then up to Patryk’s eyes.

“Not yet,” he admitted. “Can I say something first?”

“Oh, uh, sure,” Patryk said. “Go ahead.”

Paul swallowed. He looked down at his hands. At Patryk. At Patryk’s hand resting on the steering wheel. With some unknown reservoir of courage, he reached forward and took that hand in his own, intertwining his fingers with Patryk’s. It meant that they were leaning much closer to each other, but Paul found that he was mostly okay with it, at least enough that it wouldn’t stop him from saying everything he needed to.

“I know I’ve said this too many times already, but I’m really grateful to you for coming and helping us and being there for me,” he said. “You really are my best friend, and you’ve been so kind to me and Tord over the years, I don’t know what I would have done without you. ” He blushed and had to stop himself from going on further about everything else he liked about Patryk, even though he knew he could have gone on for a while. “And, I was wondering if once this is over we could sit down together and talk about… about us. Our relationship.”

It seemed to take Patryk a moment to process what Paul had said, but as soon as he was caught up his cheeks turned red and he looked like he might cry, even as a wide grin appeared on his face. He squeezed Paul’s hand, not nearly enough to hurt.

“Let’s do that,” he said. “I’ll drive us back after, and we can talk. Yeah.” He looked like there was more he wanted to say, but the words weren’t coming to him, so he settled for sitting and beaming at Paul, their hands still clasped tight.

There was a tug at the back of Paul’s mind. He had a feeling that there was something he was supposed to do here, but Patryk’s proximity to him was suddenly making it difficult for him to focus. Not that his thoughts were racing, but they felt muddled, and he was aware that Patryk’s hand was slightly sweaty in his own. He thought he heard Patryk whisper something under his breath, just out of hearing, so he leaned forward to ask what he’d said…

“Can we go inside now?” Tord’s voice broke through the silence, causing Paul to jump and nearly his his head on the roof of the car. Patryk let go of his hand and both men, blushing furiously, turned back to look at the small child in the backseat, staring at them with his seatbelt still on.

Paul realized he’d forgotten he was there.

Patryk started to laugh, covering his mouth with his hand to try to stifle it. When that proved ineffective, he opened his door and slid out, brushing Paul’s hand with his fingertips as he did so. Paul was surprised at how well he was able to hold himself together. There were a thousand thoughts flinging through his head as he stepped out, all of them pertaining to Patryk, and he was still able to keep his composure as he stepped onto the sidewalk to wait for the other two. Tord was by his side a moment later, but Patryk took longer as he retrieved the cake box from the back seat. Paul offered to help him with it, but Patryk insisted that he was fine on his own, leaving them with little to do but stand and wait.

Once Patryk had pulled the box free, they walked to the house together, not saying much besides a few reminders for Tord to behave himself while they were there. Even once they arrived at the front door, Paul and Patryk said nothing to one another, although they did catch each other’s eye at one point. Patryk smiled, and Paul felt his stomach swirl with butterflies.

The door opened, revealing Hillary.

“Paul, finally showed up,” she said. She looked down at Tord, then up to Patryk, her expression giving away almost nothing of what she thought of them. “And this is your, uh?”

“This is Patryk,” Paul said. “He’s, uh… he’s my…” He glanced to Patryk for help, but all he received was a helpless shrug and prolonged silence. He turned back to Hillary. “He baked the cake.” He heard Patryk giggle behind him, but this time he was better able to hold it in.

“Nice to meet you,” Hillary said, stepping back into the house. “I’ll show you the kitchen, then, you can drop it off there.”

She led the way inside, followed immediately by Patryk. Paul ushered Tord in after that, wanting to keep an eye on the boy, and he himself walked in last, at the end of the small procession. The interior turned out to be more crowded than he had expected, packed with adults standing around talking while children ran in between them. Paul wasn’t sure if they were in Tord’s class or not, but the boy made no move to acknowledge any of them, and Paul thought it best not to ask. He could recognize some of the adults, at least, from having attended the parent meetings and bumping into them in the after school program, but he didn’t feel compelled to talk to any of them, so he acted similarly to Tord and kept his head down as they walked through.

The further they went in, the harder it became for Paul to keep up with the rest of the group. Hillary commanded a powerful presence that caused people to step aside when they saw her coming, and Patryk was able to capitalize on that as he slipped through just behind her. They would start to shift back into place once he had passed, but not before Tord was able to squeeze in between them, taking advantage of his small size to fit through the crowded space. Paul, though, was left trying to fight through the people again after they had already come together, and he found himself drifting further and further away from the others, until he was struggling just to keep Tord in his sights.

His heart was hammering. He told himself to calm down, over and over, and he swallowed his anxiety like a spoonful of cough syrup, but that did not make it any easier putting one foot in front of the other.

He told himself to calm down. He pushed forward. There were eyes on the back of his head, someone was watching him, but he didn’t turn around to see who it was. He just kept pushing forward.

When they broke into the kitchen, he felt like he was taking the very first gulp of air of his life. Still, he had made it through without breaking his composure, and he smiled at himself, proud of the little victory.

“No, it’s not usually like this,” Hillary was saying as she rifled through the kitchen drawers. Patryk stood just behind her, still holding the box. “More people ended up coming than we had planned for. Not that we’re not grateful to have them, but it makes preparing difficult.” She turned around holding a cake server and put it on top of the box. “There’s no room in here, but there should be a place on the dining room table for that. You can go ahead and put it in there. Do you mind cutting it?”

“Not at all,” Patryk said with a smile. He carried the box, with the server balancing on top into the other room, with Tord following not far behind. Paul went to go after them, but Hillary’s voice stopped him.

“You know what, Paul, I just remembered,” she said, “my husband mentioned he wanted to meet you.”

“Your husband?” Despite having a child in primary school, Paul had never considered the idea that Hillary might be married, and something about it made him more uncomfortable than he cared to admit.

“Yes, our son mentioned that you were in the army, and he’s had an interest in meeting you ever since,” she said. “He was too, and he’s always eager to meet fellow soldiers.”

“Oh.” Paul swallowed. So he would have to make up some story about serving in an actual military, instead of a secret organization that had crumbled to dust before it managed to do a single noteworthy thing. After all these years, he knew that he could handle more difficult lies than that.

At the same time, he glanced towards the doorway Patryk had disappeared into. He would have liked to do this with Patryk nearby, but with any luck he would finish with the cake quickly enough and come save the day before Paul could mess anything up too badly.

“Sure,” he said, “I’d, uh, love to.”

Hillary led him back to the crowded living room, stopping just on the edge of the main mass in the center.

“There he is, I see him,” she said, pointing into the crowd. “He’s the one in the gray sweater, do you see him?”

Paul squinted, but could see no one who fit such a description. He shook his head.

“Really? He’s right… No, you know what, I shouldn’t be surprised, this is what always happens. Do you mind if I just…” She used her hands to make a funnel around her mouth, and before Paul could stop her she was shouting.

“Joel!” she called. “Joel, come here a moment!”

There was movement in the crowd as someone started to work their way through, but Paul could barely pay attention to it as he felt his blood run ice-cold. He was fighting to convince himself that he was wrong, it could have been any person on Earth, anyone with that name, but already he was imagining beady eyes staring up at him in the darkness, a small figure poised behind larger ones as they prepared to strike.

“There he is,” Hillary said as the short man came into view. He was wearing a gray sweater, but the color didn’t seem to suit him.  He should have been in something more vibrant. “Joel, this is Paul, Tord’s dad. He’s the one Jon mentioned to you.”

“Paul, it’s great to finally see you here, in the flesh,” Joel said. He had to reach up to take Paul’s hand, but his grip was ferocious, and he shook it in a jerking motion. “You were in the army. Ah, from what I hear, that is.”

Paul was frozen, staring at the man who still had his hand clutched tight. He didn’t know what to do. He was somewhere beyond panic or fear, so that his thoughts had been wiped out and replaced by a white fog, his mind filled with some kind of overlapping and twisting emotion that refused to make itself clear. Maybe he was afraid.

Hillary looked between the two. Joel smiled at her.

“Sweetheart, how about I take Paul somewhere a bit quieter? It’s impossible to hear anything out here.”

“That sounds like a good idea,” Hillary said, stepping back. “My study should be empty right now, and there are places to sit if you two want to talk. Have a nice time.” With that, she turned around and disappeared back into the kitchen. Joel, still holding onto Paul’s hand, went the other way.

“Come on,” he said, “let’s go.”

Paul found that he did not have any choice on the matter, as his feet started to move without his consent and he found himself following behind Joel deeper into the house. He didn’t have the energy to look around or notice his surroundings, so that by the time they arrived in the study and closed the door, Paul could have recounted nothing of the short walk in between.

Joel was staring at him. Paul, still, could think of nothing to do or say.

“My, Paul, it’s been a long time,” Joel said. “I was almost worried you wouldn’t remember me.”

In a sense, Paul hadn’t. In all of the years he had been running, he had not wasted a single moment to reflect back on any one specific member of the army, instead allowing all of them to come together as some sort of red blob in his memory. The instant he saw Joel’s face, though, it detached the man from the rest of the blob and made him real again. He’d been there the day Paul found out Silje was pregnant, and then again countless times throughout the next year, always present even when he didn’t say a word.

His mind started to wander to the generator room, to all of the faces hidden in shadows, before he grabbed it and wrenched it back into the present.

“It’s thanks to Tord that I knew you‘d be here,” Joel went on. “Jon’s told us all about him. The tantrums at school, the fights. Every day he comes home with something new to share. And then, one day, he came back and told us about how Tord had been lying about his dad, Paul, being in an army.

“I actually didn’t think it could possible be you for a long time. After all, you left in such a hurry, I thought you would at least have the sense to change your name. But, well, curiosity got the best of me, and I finally had to see if little Tord’s claims were true.” He grinned, his teeth like needles. “That kid’s going to get you into trouble one day, Paul. Honestly can’t believe you’ve bothered to keep him for so long.”

And there, at last, was where Paul found his voice.

“Of course I’m going to care for him,” he bit out. “Tord is my son. I have no idea what that means to you, but for me it means I’m always going to look out for him, no matter what he does. That’s what it means to be a parent.”

“Mm, right,” Joel said. “Thank god Tord’s mother is here, watching over her son, the way a good parent is  _supposed_  to.”

“Don’t bring Silje into this.” Paul had no idea why he was standing there. It would have been easy enough to open the door and escape back into the party, find Patryk and tell him they had to leave immediately, but he found that his feet were frozen to the floor, and something compelled him to stay and face the man below him.

He went on, “She did so much for Tord. She brought him into the world, she raised him for as long as she could, and when the situation wouldn’t allow it anymore, she did everything in her power to make sure he would be safe. Hell, she probably did the most for Tord out of any of us.” That last part hurt to say, but after all these years he had to believe it. After all, any good he’d ever done was offset by all the bad.

He wasn’t surprised when Joel started to laugh.

“You’re probably right, actually,” he said. “That woman did do everything for you, after all. There were rumors that you were only able to get out because of her, but no one was ever able to confirm them. She was just too damn good at keeping secrets.”

There was a change in Joel’s demeanor as he said those words. He almost seemed to relax, leaning against the wall his grin fading into something more naturally confident.

Paul realized that he himself was standing with his shoulders tense and back straight.

“I always knew I could trust her,” he said, although the words felt flat coming off his tongue. Something in the room felt off all of a sudden, and although he wasn’t sure what sort of game they were playing, he was almost certain he was losing.

“I’m sure you did,” Joel said. “And she must have known, too. I mean, the fact that you would do anything she told you to without questioning why or even how, that really is a mark of loyalty. Or stupidity, I guess it just depends on the context.” He laughed again. “God, you know, you really created some mayhem the way you left. I mean, killing Maxim? I don’t think anyone could have expected the kind of chaos that came out of that. The fact that any of us survived at all is pretty much a miracle.”

Paul’s stomach twisted uncomfortably. Again, he knew that he could still reach for the door, but he was aware now that Joel was making some sort of point, and a part of him was curious about what it could be.

“You weren’t there,” Joel continued, “so you don’t know what it was like. With both you and Maxim gone, just like that, everyone wanted what you had, and they tore through each other trying to get it. I was lucky to have survived. And the fact that your friends got out at all, after what they did? Must have been some sort of miracle.”

“Or skill,” Paul said. “They’re both smart, I’m not surprised they survived it.” The truth was, he was terrified to think now of Patryk and Silje alone in a building full of violence and death, but he didn’t want to give Joel any sort of satisfaction.

“Right, how could I have forgotten,” Joel said, looking up to the ceiling. “Silje was always the smartest of you.” His gaze fell back down to Paul. “I mean, walking through the hallways of a base flooded with angry men every day, without ever getting a scratch? That must have taken some real strategizing on her part. Allies, even.”

Paul had never asked Patryk how they survived, but he was catching up quickly enough, and he was hopeful that he could make it seem like he could understand more than he actually did.

“She had Patryk,” he said, “and all of her cooks.”

“Patryk was hiding the entire time,” Joel laughed. “And least, that’s what we figured, we never actually saw the guy show his face, but we knew he had to be hanging around somewhere. And her cooks? Really?” He stood straight, stepping away from the wall as he did so. “They liked her a lot, but they were pretty much useless when it came to defense. Hell, most of them couldn’t even protect themselves when it came down to it. Nah, she knew soldiers. Higher ups. Those were the ones that made the deals that kept her alive.”

Paul swallowed. It was becoming harder for him to pretend he knew what Joel was talking about. He had always assumed that Silje had some sort of connection with the upper levels of the army, given that she had her own sleeping quarters and was generally given a great deal of freedom within the organization, but Joel here seemed to be implying something greater, that went far beyond her duties as the cook.

He’d hoped he could hide his ignorance from Joel a while longer. But, by the amused flash in the man’s eyes, he knew that it was already too late.

“You never knew about those,” he said. It was a statement. He didn’t need Paul to confirm what was already so obvious. “I mean, it makes sense. She always was good at keeping secrets. That’s what she did most of, anyway. She would do something for someone, and in return they would tell her things. Sometimes she wanted to know something about the army, other times she was looking for something more personal. I gave away a couple myself, just because her service was too good to pass up.”

He stepped up to the desk, looking down at the papers on top of it.

“Any idea what she might have done in return for those secrets?” he asked.

“Smuggling?” Paul asked, remembering Silje’s many connections to the outside world.

“That’s a good guess,” Joel said, turning back to Paul. “And she did do a bit of that, when she found the time. There were also a couple of escapes she planned out, and various recommendations she took care of. Her most popular service, though, was, I guess you could say, more  _recreational_.”

Paul felt like he might be sick. No matter what he and Silje had done together, he still considered her a friend, first and foremost, and he hated listening to anyone talk about her with such a sick sense of pleasure lacing their words. Joel, however, caught on to Paul’s discomfort, and kept going.

“I went to her a few times,” he said. “I got lonely at the base sometimes, we all did, and if you could pay the price then she was willing to lend a hand. I remember there was one week, she almost wouldn’t see me she was so busy, I had to offer extra for that one.” He smiled, as though thinking back on a fond memory, and it only made the sickness in Paul’s stomach worsen. “She never gave away any names, of course, but you could figure out who’d gone to her pretty easily. There were a few guys in my patrol that week looking extra cheery. Maxim, he seemed like he was in a better mood, too.” He grinned, and took a step towards Paul.

“And you, of course. You just happened to pick her busiest week of the year to take a crack at those rumors, huh? I guess it helped that you were friends.”

Paul didn’t realize he’d been backing up until his back hit the door. He knew where this was going now. He knew exactly what sort of game Joel was playing with him, but it was too late for him to stop it, too late to go back and pretend he hadn’t heard any of it.

“And what a  _lucky_  thing, that it turned out said friend just happened to be the father of her child,” Joel said, “rather than any of the other people she’d been with, none of whom she trusted. And what a lucky thing that this same friend was the only person she would ever admit to sleeping with, even flaunt it. Just, a whole lot of luck that went into that, don’t you think, Paul?” Joel was just a couple steps away from him now. Paul could feel his heart pounding in his chest. “Of course, like you said, Silje doesn’t rely on luck. It was her own ingenuity that kept her and her family alive, wasn’t it?”

Paul scrambled to find the door handle. He missed it, though, but he was too afraid to look down to find it, his eyes locked on Joel’s approaching form.

“When you arrived, earlier, I almost couldn’t tell that Tord was with you,” Joel went on. “You don’t really look anything alike, you know. He’s got his mom’s hair, and maybe her eyes. But he’s not sized like her at all. Probably won’t grow up to be much taller than me.” He grinned. “And that temper of his, wow. Jon comes home and tells us the most incredible stories about what Tord does in class. And you know, after the second or third time it happened, I had the craziest thought.”

Paul found the knob. He twisted it and pushed back, flinging the door open.

“This kid reminds me of Maxim.”

Paul tore his eyes away at last. He ran into the living room, stopped, looked around. A sea of strange faces.

He struggled through it, trying not to think about Tord’s face but unable to push the image away, with its wild hair and wide tooth gap. He had never wondered much if Tord would look like him, but now he could think of nothing else. Did they have the same jaw? Or the same ears? He compared everything he could think of, until their parts seemed so spread apart from one another that he could hardly believe them to be the same species.

Was that his nose?

And that was the thought that almost made him stop, because the longer he pictured it, the more certain he became that Tord’s nose hadn’t come from him, or from Silje. He had spent seven years trying not to think of Maxim’s face, but now that he tried again, he was certain they were the same. Tord’s nose, that was Maxim’s. That was Maxim’s child.

He found the front door. He didn’t stop or turn around, just pushed himself into the cold night air.

For one moment, he stopped and wondered if he should have told Patryk he was leaving. Then, the image of Tord appeared in his mind again, and Paul was gone.


	14. Shattered

Paul walked beneath flying saucer streetlights and monolith skyscrapers. The moon wanted to make the world silver, but he could only see gray, and it was everywhere: the lights, the signs, his own clothes, all of it was gray or threatening to take a turn that way. Even the stoplights had been desaturated of their vibrant hues, and he wondered, for a moment, if the whole world might just crash together, a screech of tires and bang of metal before it all went dead and silent.

His thoughts wouldn’t stay quiet. They kept coming up, louder and more pressing all the time; he just wanted a moment of peace but he brain refused to supply it. Joel’s voice kept playing out, and each time it spoke it drew out each syllable a little longer and sneered into its words until Paul had forgotten the exact meaning of what he’d said and could only focus on the dreadful expression he’d made as he said it.

He needed to leave. He needed to get so far away from this place that he could never find his way back again, hide himself in far off forests with nothing and no one for company, so that he could never see Joel again, or Patryk. Or Maxim’s son.

His stomach flipped. He didn’t know where he was anymore, his sense of direction marred by the streets like snakes, all eating their own tails, but he knew that if he kept walking he would end up somewhere, maybe somewhere far away. So he let one foot fall in front of the other, and he tried not to think about Maxim’s son, even as the boy made a nest in his brain and settled down for the night.

 

-:¦:–:¦:–:¦:–:¦:–:¦:–:¦:-

 

With his eyes still closed, Patryk tried to remember what he had just been dreaming about.

He had been somewhere warm and safe, a place his mind insisted on calling home. There had been a sweet smell, like honey, or maybe the minutes before it starts to rain, and he’d had someone pressed against him so tight he’d felt like they might as well have been one person.

He couldn’t remember seeing their face, but when he woke up, it didn’t matter. Patryk knew whom he’d been holding.

As the dream faded, reality started to slip in through the cracks. The soft bed was replaced with hard ground, and the warmth faded until he found himself shivering in the cold air. He curled in on himself, trying not to dwell on the emptiness between his arms even as the early morning chill made him squeeze further in. He wanted to sleep, but the cold and the arrival of morning hunger pangs at last had him accepting that the dawn had come, and he had best be ready to face it.

As soon as he opened his eyes he saw Silje seated a meter away from him, her face pointed to the sky. Despite his silent awakening, she looked down and met his gaze. That was to be all of the acknowledgement he would receive, as a moment later she looked up again, no words spoken to indicate that she had actually seen him. For a moment, he considered offering her a “Good morning”, but taking in the graceful silence of the forest, he thought it best not to.

Instead, he, too, looked towards the sky, taking in the dark blue that was just starting to face with the sunrise. From their spot on the ground, they could only see a single splatter of sky between the trees, but it was enough to give them some sense of time. At the beginning of their journey, Patryk had been decent at keeping track of the date and time in his head, but as time went on it had become less and less important, until all he cared about was the color of the sky to indicate how soon they might lie down and rest for the night, and what time they would have to drag themselves back to their feet in the morning.

He missed clocks. And mattresses. No part of him wanted to return to the army, but he still missed having a roof over his head, and the comforting knowledge that he could always look forward to his next meal. Now exhaustion weighed heavily on him, like his head was full of rocks, but his hunger refused to let him go back to sleep.

He sighed and eased himself up, moving slowly so as to lessen the pain in his neck and back. Silje looked down again, her expression stony.

“Bad dreams?” she asked.

Patryk glanced up at her.

“What makes you think that?” he asked.

“You were mumbling in your sleep,” she said. “And you’ve got bags under your eyes like you didn’t actually get a second’s rest.”

“I mean, spending the night on top of a tree root doesn’t really equate to a peaceful rest,” he said. “But no, no bad dreams. Really good, actually.”

“Hard to wake up from?”

“Yeah,” Patryk said, trying to rub away some of the pain in his neck. “Really hard.”

Silje sighed. She stood up, pressing her hands to her knees as she did so, and stood straight with her hands on her hips. She looked out of place here, Patryk realized. Her stance was too rigid, and the way she kept glancing around indicated that she was in no way at ease. Not that he was, either, but he made no effort to hide that fact.

“It will get easier,” she said. “Now come on, get up. You won’t be able to think so hard if we’re moving.”

Patryk wasn’t sure how he managed it, but he finally stood, swaying a bit on the way up but ultimately able to find his balance, despite a moment of lightheadedness. He didn’t feel any better standing than he had lying down, but he still followed a step behind Silje, hopeful that, at the very least, they might find some berries to alleviate their hunger. Or, even better, that their trek might soon come to an end.

“Did you notice how few soldiers we saw yesterday?” he asked as they walked through the forest, their boots crunching on fallen sticks and leaves. “There was that one group early in the morning, but after that there was pretty much nobody.”

“The longer they have to walk, the further spread out they’ll become,” Silje said. She walked with a purpose, as though she knew exactly where she was headed, even though Patryk knew she was lost, too. “Some of them have already left the territory, also. It’s no surprise that we’re seeing so few of them.”

“Seems like a good thing,” Patryk said. “Fewer people to see us now.”

“We’re safer from the large groups, maybe,” Silje said. “But it would be easier for an individual to sneak up on us. Now’s no time for us to get comfortable.”

“Er, right,” Patryk said, trying not to point out that neither of them were comfortable in any way. “But, you have to admit, things have calmed down a lot. We wouldn’t go all the way, of course, but maybe we’re ready to start walking to your friend’s house?”

“No, Patryk,” she said. Although she didn’t turn around, Patryk could not have missed the edge in her voice. “It’s still too easy for someone to follow us. If we go now, we’ll be putting them in danger.” She paused for a moment, and Patryk thought that was the end of it, but then she went on, “I know how much you want to see them, that it’s all you’ve been thinking about. I  _know_. But we have to do what’s best for them.”

Patryk didn’t say anything. They walked through the forest, alert and worried and hungry, wary of the sun as it climbed off the horizon and into the sky.

 

-:¦:–:¦:–:¦:–:¦:–:¦:–:¦:-

 

Paul couldn’t remember walking to the bakery, nor could he say for sure how long he’d been sitting in front of it. There was a cigarette between his lips, one he couldn’t recall lighting, and as a cloud of smoke left him and traveled up into the air, it struck him that it must have been very late. He was used to hearing the sounds of traffic echoing down from the main street, but now there was nothing, and the silence that echoed down the alleyway was deafening.

He took a slow drag on the cigarette, trying not to think about how lost he was. Not in the physical sense, of course; by now, he knew this street better than his own apartment building. The problem had more to do with the fact that, come morning, he couldn’t still be sitting here, but he didn’t know where he should go before then. He had no intention of going home, but there was nowhere else he could stay, even for a just a couple days. He thought of heading back to Norway, but he had no idea what he would do with himself once he arrived. He had no money, no friends. At best, he might run into another Red Army soldier, and they would only taunt him for a few minutes before they put a gun to his head.

Come to think of it, though, he didn’t have to go all the way to Norway to achieve such an end.

Paul started to shake as the thought came to him, and when headlights appeared at the end of the street, he found he’d never been so glad to be found in his life. He could not bring himself to look up at the car as it approached, but he knew that the driver had seen him when they started to slow down. His heart fluttered when the car came to a stop and the engine cut out, but still he kept his head down, figuring that if they meant to mug him, better to let it happen without a fuss.

The door opened and they stepped out, their shoes tapping lightly on the pavement. Paul wasn’t sure whether it was their footsteps or some sort of sixth sense he’d never noticed before, but by the time they came to a stop he knew exactly who was standing in front of him.

“Paul,” Patryk said. “Are you okay?”

“No.”

He heard Patryk make a small noise, one of worry, maybe, or confusion.

“Do you need anything right now?” he asked.

Paul shook his head again.

“I don’t know,” he said.

Patryk shuffled his feet. Paul had a feeling that if he looked up, he would see the man playing with his hair, or biting his lip, but he had neither the energy nor the care to raise his head.

“I left Tord with your neighbors,” Patryk said. “After I saw Joel and figured out you’d gone, I took him home. He was pretty upset, but he promised me he’d stay put.”

Paul didn’t say anything, taking another drag on his cigarette. Despite everything, he was glad to hear that Tord was safe. At the same time, hearing his name made his stomach clench painfully.

“Did you know?” he asked.

“Know what, Paul?”

Paul scoffed.

“Silje lied to me,” he said. “He’s not my kid, he’s… he’s…”

But he couldn’t get himself to say the hateful name, and he was afraid that if he tried any harder his throat would close up and that would be the end of it. He was shaking again, so much that he nearly dropped the cigarette. He put it back between his lips.

“Oh.”

Paul could have laughed at Patryk’s response, if he wasn’t fighting so hard to keep himself from having a meltdown. Really, what else was there to say? All his life he’d felt like he’d been thrown into things without any preparation, but this took it to another level, and he couldn’t fault Patryk for not having anything else to say about it.

“Did Joel tell you that?” Patryk asked. “Is that why you left?”

Paul nodded and took hold of his cigarette again. He was aware that Patryk had taken another step towards him, but he still didn’t look up.

“Christ, Patryk, I’m an idiot,” he muttered. “I mean, how did it take me seven years to realize that kid is nothing like me? We have  _nothing_  in common. We don’t look the same, act the same. His voice doesn’t even sound anything like mine. And I was just completely oblivious to all of it. I was too stupid to notice the facts glaring in my face the whole time.” He didn’t realize he was raising his voice. “I took care of him, all this time. Everything I did was for him, to keep him safe. And it turns out that all I’ve been doing is taking care of the child of the man who ruined my life. I’m a sucker, Patryk, I’m so fucking  _gullible_.” He started to rake his hands through his hair, clawing at his scalp as though it might free him from this nightmare. “ _Seven years_ , I’ve been an  _idiot_.”

He felt hands wrap around his wrists, and his surprise made him stop just long enough for Patryk to pull his hands down, away from his head and down towards his lap. He looked up at last, meeting Patryk’s eyes, and the intensity of them seemed to hold him there, suspended above his own despair.

“You are not an idiot,” Patryk said. “You are kind and caring and wonderful, Paul. You trust people, and that’s good, because it means that people always feel like they can trust you. I never feel safer than when I’m around you, because I know you would never do something to hurt me on purpose.” He moved his hands down, so that his fingers could lace together with Paul’s. “You’re a good person. You saw a child in trouble, and you gave him a home. For seven years you cared for him and loved him, even though raising a child is one of the hardest things in the world, and you were already struggling enough just to survive. That doesn’t make you gullible. It means you’ve got a good heart.”

Patryk smiled at him gently, like he was afraid moving too quickly might startle him. Paul’s heart was thumping in his chest, but for the first time, he found that he didn’t mind it so much.

Keeping his grip on one hand, Patryk turned around and sat, so that they were side by side with their backs to the bakery. Paul tightened his fingers around Patryk’s, just to be sure the connection was there.

“She lied to me,” he said.

“Well, you don’t know that for sure,” Patryk said. “It’s her word against his right now, isn’t it?”

There was more to it than that, Paul knew, but it was an important point Patryk made. No matter how well his argument seemed structured, he was still one of the people who had tormented Paul for all those months, and he didn’t deserve Paul’s full and immediate trust. That couldn’t stop him from thinking the man might be right, but it was nice at least to remember that he had the option to fight back.

“And, I mean, even if he is right, what does it matter?” Patryk asked. The question surprised Paul, and he listened as Patryk went on, “So, okay, Silje lied to you, that’s upsetting, and I understand why you would feel hurt over that. But as far as Tord goes? It really doesn’t change a thing. He’s still the same kid that’s been with you all this time. You two have been through so much together and changed each other in so many ways, does it really matter whether or not you’re biologically related?”

Paul swallowed. He could feel himself starting to shake again, and he wondered if Patryk could feel it through their joined hands.

“I don’t know,” he said. “God damn it, Patryk, god fucking damn it,  _I don’t know_.” He buried his face in his free hand, gritting his teeth as he shook. “I don’t know if it matters, or if it should. Maybe things would have been better for us if we were? Maybe, I don’t know, I’d actually understand him, and I’d be able to get through to him once in a while? Fuck, maybe his real parents could have actually made him happy, instead of digging him into this mess I’ve put him in.” He was loathe to think of Maxim ever getting near Tord, but he had to wonder what would have happened had that man been given his son. Maybe he would have softened because of it, and he would have become the kind, patient, always-present father that Paul had never managed to be.

Maybe he could have made Tord happy.

Patryk’s fingers squeezed around his hand. When Paul looked up, he was shocked at the pure sadness he saw on Patryk’s face.

“You are his real parent,” Patryk said. “And I know it’s not the way you mean, but you know him better than anyone, Paul. You know what he’s like and how to manage him. You know by now that you can’t make him change who he is, so you’ve found ways to work it out. Paul, he trusts you more than anyone else on Earth. You’re his best friend. So, even if what Joel says is true and you’re not related by blood, you can’t take away the fact that you literally raised him. You just can’t.”

Paul squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. There was a part of him that wanted to believe everything Patryk said. It seemed so easy, to just accept it and move on as though the whole night had never happened, but Paul’s mind wouldn’t allow it.

He sighed, in frustration and defeat.

“It’s just, every time I think of him,” he said, “I’m reminded all of the ways I failed to give him the life he deserves.”

Patryk sighed and looked away. For a moment, Paul was afraid he was going to let go, but then instead he laid his free hand over their clasped ones. Paul realized he wasn’t shaking anymore, but there was a nervous energy in the air between them that he could not explain.

“Paul,” Patryk said, “there’s something I haven’t told you yet. And it’s not because I meant to keep a secret from you, I was just waiting for the right time and it never came. So I’m sorry that I didn’t say anything before, but I hope you’ll understand.”

Paul watched him. He didn’t say anything, but Patryk seemed to understand that he should go on.

“After you left, things at the base got really bad,” he started.

“Right, Joel told me that,” Paul said. “He said you two had to escape.”

Patryk swallowed.

“We did,” he said. “We left together. We had to hide out for a while, because the woods were still crawling with soldiers, so by the time we got to Silje’s friends house you had already left, and they weren’t really sure where you’d gone.”

“I was trying to keep from leaving a trail,” Paul said. “I wasn’t in a good place at the time. I was convinced that anyone trying to follow us would be doing it to hurt us.”

“I know, I know,” Patryk said, shushing him. “It’s okay. We were all a little paranoid at the time, we understood why you did it. But Silje and I, we both wanted to find you two, so we started searching. We went all over the country, working odd jobs and talking to anyone who might have seen you. That was when Silje taught me how to cook, actually. She would convince people I was a great chef before we actually got a job, and then tell me what I was supposed to do once we made it to the kitchen.” He smiled. “It wasn’t all bad. I learned a lot from working with her, and I met some amazing people. I got to see more of Norway than I ever had before.”

The smile faded.

“But I missed having a place to call home. We were moving all the time, so we were never able to get comfortable anywhere, and any friends we made we would have to leave behind without much hope of seeing them again.” He glanced over and met Paul’s gaze, and his eyes looked misty. “And I missed you. Every time we entered a new city, I thought we were finally going to bump into you, and when we didn’t it hurt a little more. It got to the point that I just couldn’t handle having my hope crushed every time, I might have fallen apart if it had gone on any longer.”

“Patryk…” Paul murmured.

Patryk shook his head, letting a few strands fall in front of his face and cover his eyes.

“We ended up working at this one bakery. It was perfect: the work was hard but rewarding, and the nicest boss I’ve ever gotten to work with. We were there a couple months before he told us he was planning to move his business to England, and he suggested that we should go with him.”

“And you did,” Paul said.

Patryk nodded.

“It just seemed like the natural thing to do,” he said. “I was so tired of moving every few months, never really feeling like I belonged anywhere. I figured, once we settled down in England, that could be it. We’d finally have a home somewhere.”

He stopped and took a deep breathe before he went on.

“Silje, though, she wanted to stay. She was committed to finding Tord, and she still had hope that you two were hiding in Norway. So, we split up. I came here, and she stayed to keep searching. Before we left, though, she gave me a phone number, someone who would be able to get in contact with her, and she told me to call immediately if I ever found you.” He looked up to the sky. “And here we are, months later, and I still haven’t called. But I think I should now. I think it’s time she knew where you’ve been all this time.”

Paul hadn’t realized his breathing speeding up or his heart starting to pound, but he became aware of it now as imagine what this could mean for him, for Tord.

“Patryk…”

“I know I should have said something sooner,” Patryk said, squeezing Paul’s hand. “And I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I don’t know why I didn’t tell you. But I think it would be good for her to come now. She can tell us if Joel was telling the truth, and maybe you’ll listen to her when she tells you you’re not a failure, because you’re really not, Paul, and I can’t seem to convince you of that myself.”

Paul’s head was spinning with the new information. For so long, Patryk’s silence had led him to assume the worst, and he had thought it would be easier to go on in silence instead of hearing whatever grisly end his dear friend might have faced. Now, to hear that she was alive and reachable made butterflies start flapping in his stomach. He was excited, as well as nervous, a combination he was becoming much more acquainted with as of late.

“Okay,” he said. “Yeah. Let’s do that. Let’s call her.”

Patryk smiled, possibly in relief. He rubbed his thumb over Paul’s hand.

“It’s going to be okay,” he promised. “You’ll see.” Then, he leaned forward from the wall, preparing to stand up. “Now, think you want to head back? Tord is still waiting for you.”

Paul jumped. Patryk’s story had distracted him, but now he remembered that his son was alone, waiting to see if he ever came back or if he had disappeared for good. He nearly tripped as he launched himself up, although his grip on Patryk’s hand remained firm.

“Let’s go,” he said. “Can you drive? Oh, christ, he must have been scared. Jesus, Patryk, what was I  _thinking_ …”

“Hey, hey,” Patryk said, holding him back before he could throw himself at the car. His voice soother Paul a bit, although he was still anxious to get moving. “Just stay calm, alright? It’s all going to be okay.”

Paul promised he would, so they climbed into the car together, and Patryk drove away from the bakery. If he went a little bit over the speed limit, Paul wasn’t going to be the one to chastise him for it.

 

-:¦:–:¦:–:¦:–:¦:–:¦:–:¦:-

 

The sun had been gone a long time, but Patryk was still awake, staring at the sky full of stars. As a soldier, he had gone on plenty of night patrols, during which he’d had ample time to glance up and take in the night sky that hovered just above the base, and he’d gotten somewhat bored of it, assuming he’d simply had his fill for one lifetime. Now, though, that he had this time, alone and uninterrupted, to sit and lose himself to the night sky, he found himself in awe at the cosmos, lost in the stars, like glittering lace stretched up above him.

There was so much up above, beyond their planet, he realized. When he thought about it like that, it was easier to forget about his troubles on Earth, and instead launch himself up, into a wide and unknowable galaxy.

He almost missed it when Silje turned over and opened one eye, looking up at him from where she lay on the ground.

“You’re still awake,” she said. “Can’t sleep?”

Patryk tried to hide how startled he’d been at her voice, and he did manage it, to some extent.

“No, I can,” he said. “Just don’t want to.” His eyelids had already drooped down a couple times now, and he knew that at any minute they would shut and he would pass out until morning. He was putting that moment off as long as possible, and every time he felt himself start to slip he would refocus on the stars.

“You need your rest,” Silje said. “Tomorrow might be our last day, but that does not make it short. You’ll need to be ready to move come morning.”

“I know, and I will be. I’m just not ready.” For more than two weeks now, he’d been surviving off a handful of hours of sleep each day. He could handle one more night of it.

“Scared of having the dream again?” Silje asked.

Patryk was glad that, in the darkness, Silje couldn’t see him blush. It had been two weeks since he’d first mentioned it to her, and every night since he’d had the same one, of him lying in a soft bed, his arms wrapped around the same person, their sweet smell dancing around him. It wouldn’t be so bad, but it made waking up feel like he was entering a nightmare, and several times he had gasped awake as the shock of cold and loneliness hit him all at once.

He didn’t want to sleep because he knew that waking up would be miserable.

“It’s always the same one,” he said. “It’s exhausting, waking up every day and realizing it’s not real. And then I start to think, what if it never becomes real? What if we arrive too late, or something happened to them on the way? And I know that worrying won’t make it any better, but I can’t help it. It’s… it’s exhausting.”

That word barely began to cover all of the feelings he experienced on waking each morning, and the subsequent trek he faced each day, regardless of how much sleep he’d actually gotten. He always felt like his head was full of rocks, weighing him down and holding him back at every step.

He wondered if Silje felt the same at all. She never complained of any such thing, but that didn’t seem to be a part of her nature.

“Patryk,” she said, long after he thought she’d fallen asleep again, “do you love him?”

Patryk looked down at her in shock. The question had hit him so suddenly, it took him a moment to understand what he was being asked.

“Paul?” he said. An unnecessary question, but the only thing his frazzled, sleep-deprived brain could think to say in the moment. He looked down at the forest floor, piled high with leaves and other dead things. “I mean, it’s possible, I guess.”

“That’s not an answer, Patryk,” Silje said. “Either you love someone, or you don’t. Anything in between is cruel.”

Patryk, surprised by her cutting words, knew that he wouldn’t have time to think about his answer before Silje became impatient, so he said the first thing he felt.

“Yes.” he said, “I do. I love him. I love Paul.” There was something exhilarating, in finally acknowledging this and saying it out loud. “And Tord, I love him, too. And y—”

“Now, that’s enough,” Silje said. Her voice was firm, but she didn’t sound annoyed at all. “I only asked about Paul, I don’t need a comprehensive list.” She chuckled, and something about the sound made Patryk’s head lighten a bit, like a couple of pebbles had come dislodged from the pile in his head.

“That’s good to hear, though,” she said. “Because if you love him, then I know you’ll find each other again. I’m sure of it.”

Even if Patryk didn’t agree with her, it was a comforting thought to have. It did little to mend his worst fears, but her deep voice gave him something else to focus on for a time.

“In that case, I know you’ll find Tord, too,” he said. “Tomorrow, when we get to the house, everything will be right again.”

“Of course,” Silje said with a yawn. She was fading again. “Now go to sleep, Patryk. You need rest.”

“Okay,” he said. “Goodnight.” He heard Silje mumble a response as she turned over and went back to sleep. Patryk did not join her immediately, though, turning his head up to face the stars once more.

So he loved Paul. Although it was a new idea to him, he realized he believed it easily, and that it slid in like it had been present all this time and just waiting for him to acknowledge it. It changed nothing, he was just as intent to reach this friend’s house as he was before, and yet at the same time it changed everything, in ways he was too sleep-deprived to fully comprehend.

The stars twinkled above. Compared to the world, the universe, everything, this seemed like such a small thing to care about. In Patryk’s mind, though, it came to the forefront, and Patryk had to wonder if everything he’d ever done had, in fact, been leading to this one discovery, and, if that were the case, what this discovery would lead to in turn.

He blinked his eyes open, not having realized they’d shut in the first place. It was late, he was tired, and he had one last day ahead of him before he could lie down in a proper bed. But maybe, he realized, the walk would be worth it. After everything he’d been through, a simple night’s sleep in a warm bed would more than make up for it.

He lay back, nestling himself into the cold, lumpy earth. He would sleep, then, and waking would be just as painful as it always was. But before then, he had his dream to look forward to, and in some ways, that was enough.

 

-:¦:-:¦:–:¦:–:¦:–:¦:–:¦:-

 

Paul nearly fell out of the car the second Patryk had it parked. He charged toward the apartment, fumbling with the keys and nearly dropping them in his shaking rush to get inside. Even then, he still had to force himself to wait a moment to hold the door for Patryk as he came running up behind.

“Thanks,” Patryk gasped as he caught up, but there was no time for Paul to respond. He was already running for the stairs, then jogging up two at a time. His heart was pounding, breaths hard to come by, but he didn’t care. He had to get to Tord. He had to make this right.

When he reached his floor, he didn’t bother knocking on the neighbors’ door, even when he saw it ajar slightly, and instead raced around the corner, eyes immediately going to his own apartment.

There, sitting with his back against the door, was Tord. He was curled up in a ball, knees pressed to his chest and eyes pointed to the floor, but he raised his head at the sound of Paul’s pounding footsteps. His eyes went wide.

Paul was panting. He stepped forward, arms opening.

“Tord—”

“ _Don’t!_ ”

Tord’s shout echoed in the small hallway. Paul jumped at the sudden sound and stopped, arms  coming back to his sides. He could hear Patryk running up the stairs behind him.

Tord looked down at the floor, then back up to Paul, eyes narrowed in a challenge.

“I don’t want to talk to you,” he said. “Just unlock the door.”

“But, Tord—”

“Listen to me!” Tord yelled. “I don’t want to talk to you. Ever. So let me inside and leave me alone!”

Any other night, Paul would have gotten angry in turn. But he was too tired and had been through too much for his emotions to go beyond a heavy acceptance. Patryk caught up to him then, by the sound of footsteps behind him, but the other man didn’t say anything, instead existing as a silent, invisible presence in the hallway, not sure if he had the right to intervene.

“Okay, Tord,” he said. Keys still in hand, he stepped forward. Tord had to stand and step out of the way as he approached, but they neither said anything nor made eye contact.

Paul pushed the key in, then paused before turning it.

“I’m sorry, Tord,” he said. “I love you.”

“Just open the door!” Tord spat.

Paul sighed and unlocked it, letting it swing open inwards. Tord pushed his way inside and made a beeline for his bedroom, disappearing inside and slamming the door behind him. Paul stayed rooted to the spot, staring after him without any clue what to do next.

A hand landed on his shoulder. He jumped and gasped.

“Sorry,” Patryk said, pulling back. “I forgot.”

“Don’t worry,” Paul said automatically. “It, it’s…”

Patryk stepped forward so they were side by side.

“You don’t have to say it’s okay,” he said. He looked inside, to the same spot Paul had been staring at. “Are you going to talk to him?”

Paul hummed and ran a hand through his hair. It was just hitting him how tired he was, and he was afraid that trying something like that now would lead to a shouting match.

“Not tonight,” he said. “In the morning, when he’s ready, I’ll sit him down and we can talk over what happened tonight. And I’ll tell him about Silje. I think he should cool down some before I bring her up.”

“That sounds smart.” Patryk didn’t say anything more, and when Paul looked over, he realized Patryk was staring at him, brows knit with concern. “Are you alright, Paul?”

“I’m fine,” he said, rubbing his eyes before looking at Patryk again. “Just tired. It’s been a long night.”

“Mhm.” Patryk glanced into the apartment again, towards the closet-sized kitchen, buried in shadow. “You didn’t have dinner, did you?”

“Ah, no,” Paul said. “But it’s not a big deal, I’ll be okay until morning.”

Just like that, Patryk was striding into the apartment, headed straight for the kitchen.

“Nope,” he said, “not okay. Come on, you need to have something to eat.” Already he had flicked on the light and was opening cupboards, taking stock of what Paul had available.

Paul followed him in, feeling a blush creeping onto his cheeks.

“You really don’t have to do that, Patryk, it’s late and you’ve already done so much tonight.”

Patryk paused his efforts to look back at Paul.

“I’m doing this because you’re important to me,” he said. “I couldn’t leave you like this if I wanted to.”

Paul’s blush deepened to crimson, but he made no further attempts to stop Patryk. Instead, he walked to the entrance of the kitchen and leaned against the doorframe, watching as Patryk spun around and searched for something to make. He’d thought all of their food was the microwavable variety, but Patryk was somehow able to uncover a box of pasta and some canned tomato sauce. Paul watched while he worked, feeling slightly useless since he had no idea what to do and Patryk wasn’t giving him any instructions. At most, he was able to stand aside as Patryk stepped out of the kitchen, walking up the hall to Tord’s room. He knocked on the closed door.

“Tord,” he said. “I’m making Paul something to eat, you want some, too?” Both adults listened closely, although Paul wasn’t able to hear anything. Patryk, on the other hand, nodded at the door. “Alright,” he said, before walking back to Paul.

“So what, he gets a choice?” he joked as he stepped aside again.

“Not really,” Patryk said as he resumed preparing the food. “I just knew he would never eat it if someone told him to.”

While the pasta was cooking, he poured the sauce into a smaller pan and put that on the stove, tossing in some extra salt and pepper until he was happy with it. When the pasta was done, he drained the water into the sink, then pulled out two plates and divided it between them, coming up with just enough pasta to evenly fill each. He then took the pan and poured the warm sauce over the top of them, at which point Paul was finally able to smell it and his stomach growled. He saw Patryk’s lip twitch in amusement.

“Come on, it’s ready,” he said, motioning Paul forward. He glanced around the small room. “Uh, where do you keep your forks?”

Instead of answer, Paul took the opportunity to be useful, stepping forward retrieving a pair from a drawer. He handed one to Patryk, smiling despite himself, and saw his expression mirrored on the other man’s face.

“Thanks,” he said, retrieving one plate and carrying it out of the kitchen. Paul followed him with the other and watched as he approached the closed door, knocking again like he did the first time. This time, it opened, and Patryk passed the plate and fork forward. Paul heard a small “Thank you”, and then the door closed again. He was still standing near the kitchen when Patryk returned. With some silent agreement, they sat down on the couch together.

It was then that Paul realized Patryk hadn’t made a plate for himself. He pointed out as much, and Patryk blushed.

“There wasn’t much pasta left,” he said.

Paul pointed down with his fork.

“We’re sharing this,” he said. He didn’t give Patryk time to argue before he’d twirled spaghetti around his fork, taken a bite, and then handed the plate forward. After a moment’s hesitation, Patryk took it and copied Paul’s movement. He took his time chewing, squinting his eyes at the taste.

“Needs more pepper,” he said, handing it back.

“It’s perfect the way it is,” Paul said, and he meant it. The fact that Patryk made it was enough for Paul to love it, but the meal itself also tasted great. He took his bite and passed it over. They went through the whole plate this way, one at a time until it was clean. It was only when they’d finished that either one thought of getting a second fork, but they didn’t bring it up. They both doubted that they would have bothered even if they’d thought of it sooner.

Once the plate was empty, they sat in silence for several moments, neither certain what should come next. Paul looked up to Patryk, met his eyes, and glanced away, toward the door. He knew what was supposed to happen now, that Patryk was supposed to go home, but by the curl of dread he felt at the thought he knew he wasn’t ready. He thought back to the promise they had made each other before walking into that awful house, but now that it felt the right time had come, he had no idea what he was supposed to say. He knew what he wanted, or had some better idea of it than he had the day before, but he wasn’t sure how to put any of it into words.

“So,” he said.

Patryk smiled.

“So.”

“The food was great.”

“I’m glad you liked it.”

Neither of them could say all the things they wanted to, and it struck Paul that it was probably too late for this conversation. They were tired, and after all that had happened that night, it was doubtful they had the emotional energy left to talk through something like this.

It made his heart tug a bit, to think that this would have to be put off even longer, and it hurt to imagine Patryk driving home, alone, in the middle of the night. He wasn’t ready to be separated yet.

And that’s when it struck him they didn’t have to be.

“Patryk,” he said, looking down at the dinner plate as he spoke, “um, only if you feel like it, no pressure, but I was wondering if you’d like to spend the night.”

He glanced up. Patryk was beaming at him, sun rays spilling off of him so fast it was like he had given up trying to contain them and had resigned himself to letting his joy run free. Paul was awed by it, shocked that he could produce such a feeling in anyone, let alone this wonderful person.

“Yes,” Patryk said. “Yes, I’d love to.”

Paul couldn’t help the smile the burst forth in response.

“I’m… I’m glad,” he said.

As if on instinct, Patryk reached forward towards Paul’s nearest hand, before stopping himself an inch away and pulling back. Paul looked down at the hand, then closed the short distance between them, entwining their fingers together. They smiled at each other. They were too tired for words, but right now, there was no need for them.

They cleaned the kitchen together, Paul washing dishes while Patryk dried and put them away. The small meal meant that there wasn’t much for them to wash afterward, but they agreed it was better to have the both of them working on it. When they were finished, they left the kitchen and walked down the hallway together, passing by Tord’s room. Paul stopped in front of it.

“Goodnight, Tord,” he said. There was no response. Patryk, holding his hand again, sighed and continued to lead Paul up the hall.

“It’ll be okay,” he said.

“I know,” Paul said, looking back despite himself. “I just wish I could make it better now.”

Patryk squeezed his hand, gazing at him with sadness in his eyes. There was nothing left to be said on the matter, though, so they let it drop.

Getting ready for bed didn’t take long. Paul didn’t have any pajamas that Patryk could fit into, but he insisted that he was fine. Paul continued to worry about it for several more minutes, until Patryk reminded him of all the time he had been on the move with Silje, and promised that he was perfectly comfortable sleeping in jeans, it wasn’t a big deal. Paul was, however, able to find a toothbrush still in its packaging, and he let Patryk borrow that. They took turns in the bathroom, because Paul knew he would pass out if he tried to stand next to Patryk for too long in absolute silence, and when he returned to the bedroom it was to see Patryk sitting on the bed with his feet on the floor, untying his shoes.

Paul watched him for a moment before Patryk looked up and smiled. He didn’t seem as confident as he normally was, but he was trying to be encouraging.

“Do you still need the light?” Paul asked.

“Nope,” Patryk said as he pulled off the second shoe and placed it next to the other, near the end of the bed. “Go for it.”

Paul flicked off the switch. The room, now enrobed in darkness, was at least familiar enough to him that he was able to find his way without tripping over anything. The streetlight outside his window helped as well, sending a yellow glow inside that mostly pointed to the ceiling. It was enough, though, for him to find his way, and after a moment he was seated on his bed, then lying back on it, faced toward the ceiling. He heard Patryk lie back as well, and the mattress shifted with his change in position.

Paul glanced over. Patryk was lying on his side, facing him, and although it was hard to tell in the darkness, he seemed to be smiling.

“You okay, Paul?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Paul said. His heart was pounding. He didn’t hate it. “There’s a lot going on in my head right now, but I’m okay.”

“Okay,” Patryk said. “If you’re ever uncomfortable, I need you to tell me, okay? I’ll leave, it’s no big deal.”

Paul imagined, then, Patryk trying to drive home in the middle of the night, half asleep and disappointed, and his stomach clenched.

“No, it’s too late for you to be going anywhere,” he said. “If anything happens, one of us can sleep on the couch.” He wasn’t sure how it would feel to see each other in the morning if it came to that, but it was a risk worth taking to know that Patryk was safe.

“Sounds good,” Patryk said.

After that they lapsed into silence for a while. Paul switched between looking at the ceiling and looking at Patryk, not sure which felt more uncomfortable. It had been a long time since he’d shared a bed with anyone, and he wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do here, if he was supposed to say anything or just let the whole thing happen naturally.

One thing he realized after a couple minutes was that Patryk was never going to make the first move. It was an act of compassion, he knew, letting Paul decide when he was ready for things to go any further, but the thought of actually initiating anything made his heart clench. He wanted to make a move, but—

His thoughts stopped there. He focused on that idea, that feeling. He  _wanted_  things to go further. Not a lot, not to any great extreme, but he knew that if he woke up in the morning and there was still this wall of empty space between them, he would consider it a waste of the night.

He looked over at Patryk. His eyes had closed, but judging by his breathing, he wasn’t asleep. Paul rolled onto his side and scooted forward on the bed, brushing against the starchy fabric as he reached forward into the space between them, laying his hand just an inch from Patryk’s own. Either the sound or the movement caused Patryk to stir, and he blinked, smiling at Paul with his eyes half-lidded, still caught in his sleepy haze. He looked down at the offered hand, then took it, the warmth of his hand encircling Paul’s and reminding him at once that he was safe. Here, with Patryk, he was okay.

“Come here,” he whispered, sliding forward another inch. Patryk copied him, and they came close together, so that Paul could see the strands of hair that had fallen in front of Patryk’s face. He let go of his hand to reach up and brush them aside, and the feel of the silky hair sent a pleasant chill up his spine, while Patryk’s blushing smile made his heart skip a beat. He let his fingers curl into Patryk’s hair, taking care not to tug it at all. Patryk reached over as well, but lower, his hand hovering over Paul’s waist.

“Is this alright?” he asked. Paul glanced down, then back up. He nodded. Patryk set his hand down and pulled himself closer.

It was strange to feel someone holding him there, Paul realized. Unfamiliar. Instead of feeling threatened by it, though, he found it comforting, although he had to wonder if anyone besides Patryk could invoke that feeling in him. Not that it mattered, because there was no one else he would have rather been with like this.

“Paul,” Patryk whispered. It wasn’t for fear of being loud, but due to the fact that there was no need to speak any louder. With the minimal space between them, they could hear each other’s every breath. “There’s something I’d like to tell you.”

“Yeah?” Paul liked this, he realized, this closeness. There was still a part of him that was afraid he was about to mess everything up and that Patryk might finally walk out, but it was quieter now, muffled by his own comfort at being so close to this dear person.

“When Silje and I were running together, I thought about you a lot,” Patryk said. “All the time, I guess. I missed you. I missed you so much that late one night, when I lay sleeping,” he swallowed, the blush on his face darkening, “I dreamed I held you in my arms.”

Paul’s eyes went wide.

“Really?” he asked. It was hard for him to imagine Patryk, or anyone really, thinking about him often enough that he could somehow slip into their dreams. He was so caught up on that fact that he almost missed the nature of the dream itself, and when the full weight of it caught up to him he could say little more than, “Oh.”

“It was more than one night, actually,” Patryk said. “It went on for a while, and it didn’t really stop until I lost hope that we would ever find you again, and I guess convinced myself that it could never come true. But, I mean here we are, and, and…” He swallowed. He wasn’t meeting Paul’s eyes, instead focused on some point up on the ceiling. “I’m just really glad we found each other, Paul. And I still can’t believe that I can be here with you, right now.” At last, he looked down again, nervously looking into Paul’s eyes as an uncomfortable laugh broke from his lips. Paul glanced down at them, watching the way they curled into a small smile. “Thank you.”

Paul continued to stare at Patryk’s lips. There were butterflies in his stomach, probably large ones with vibrantly colored wings, and their flapping made it hard for him to focus on his thoughts much at all. Or, maybe that was more on purpose, because he knew which direction they would be heading in and he didn’t know if that was okay for him to think about, if Patryk was ready for it, if he even  _wanted_  it.

He glanced up to Patryk’s eyes. They were gentle, encouraging, and all at once Paul knew that Patryk was thinking the same.

“I should be the one thanking you,” he murmured, running his fingers once more through Patryk’s hair.

He wasn’t sure who made the first move. It seemed that all at once, they were closer, their foreheads several inches apart, then just one. He let himself look Patryk over one more time, taking in his nervous, excited smile, and his eyes, still sparkling in the darkness, and he enjoyed the feeling of Patryk’s hair through his fingers, the softest he’d ever felt. He knew he was being overcome with his emotions, they were bounding beyond his control and he could only hope to catch up in enough time to see where they took him, but at the same time he didn’t mind. Because he knew that, no matter what, he was safe, and he felt more adoration for the man in front of him than any other person he’d ever met in his life, that these feelings, allowed to be covered so long as they sprouted and grew, were now ready to be released so they could blossom.

So he closed his eyes. And he leaned forward.

Patryk’s lips were soft and warm. Paul hadn’t known what to expect, but he found that he liked the feeling. The butterflies in his stomach were flapping madly, a swarm of nervous energy in his gut, but he found he didn’t mind it. When he breathed, he drew in Patryk’s smell, sweet and familiar. Like home.

They only kissed for a moment before he pulled back, eyes still closed.

“That… was that alright?” he gasped.

He heard Patryk giggle.

“Oh, Paul,” he said. “That was perfect.  _You’re_  perfect.”

Paul didn’t know what to say. So, instead of trying to parse words together, he leaned forward again, cupping Patryk’s cheek as he drew him into another kiss.

They took their time with this one, each equally interested in learning the taste and feel of the other man. Paul had kissed other people in the past, but never quite like this. This was gentle, but curious. It hinted at what might come in the future, but it demanded nothing of him in the present, instead letting him take his time as he became acquainted with the feeling of Patryk’s lips against his.

This time when he pulled away, he opened his eyes, to see Patryk do the same. They stared at each other for a moment before one, then both, broke down into laughter, giggling together like they were in on some fantastic joke together.

Paul was the first to come back to himself, gasping as the full weight of what had just happened hit him like a truck.

“Wow,” he said. “We really did that.”

“We did,” Patryk said. He was still smiling, but it faded a bit and he glanced away. “And, you were okay with it?”

“Yes.” There was no hesitation. “I liked it. I want to do it again.”

Patryk laughed.

“I’m so glad to hear it,” he said. He still wasn’t looking at Paul, betraying his nervousness as he bit his lip. Paul worried, for a moment, that Patryk hadn’t liked it, that he was regretting the whole thing already, but then he spoke, “We can talk more in the morning, but I just wanted you to know that I want to be there for you and Tord in the future. Through thick and thin.” He bumped his forehead against Paul’s, finally making eye contact again. “You should never have to be alone again.”

Paul was put at a loss for words. Then he grinned, and in a deft movement pecked Patryk on the lips, pulling back before the other man had time to react. He couldn’t help but giggle at Patryk’s expression, as it shifted first to surprise and then amusement.

“You’re too much,” Patryk sighed. Paul just shrugged.

They stopped speaking after that and instead just lay in the darkness in silence, marveling at one another. Paul stroked Patryk’s hair, still wondering how he could be so lucky, and Patryk held him close, a sort of secure tether to the world. After the thrill of their kiss, both of them were content just to lay there and appreciate one another’s presence, at last close enough to make up for all the time they had spent hoping for this. Paul found that Patryk was warm, and everything about him, from his hair to his skin, was soft, and he wanted to cover all of it with gentle touches as he explored the new possibilities.

After several minutes, Patryk spoke up again.

“I have work in the morning,” he whispered, “but I don’t want to go to sleep. I don’t want this to end.”

“Me neither,” Paul said. He could have stayed here for the rest of his life and been perfectly content, holding Patryk close and without real life to complicate things or get in their way. At the same time, real life still existed outside of this room, and it would do neither of them any good if morning arrived and they hadn’t gotten any sleep.

“Just, close your eyes,” he said. “And just remember that even when you’re asleep, I’m still here. I’ve still got you. And I’m never going to disappear on you again.”

For the briefest moment, Patryk looked like he might cry. Then his expression relaxed and he let his eyes shut, breathing slowing as he started to drift away. Paul knew that he should have been doing something similar, but he couldn’t help but watch, enamored by the way Patryk’s muscles relaxed and his barriers fell away, until all that was left was a peaceful mask of sleep. Paul realized he wanted to kiss him again, but he forced himself to resist the temptation, knowing that Patryk needed the rest.

Still, his emotions were bubbling up, demanding some form of release, so as he closed his own eyes, he whispered, “You’ll never know, dear, how much I love you.”

He missed the way the corner of Patryk’s mouth trembled and raised, a smile like he had never worn before. Then, it fell away, and both of them were asleep, clinging to each other like they would never let go.


	15. Sketches

The day Silje arrived started off with a heated debate over who should drive to the airport. In the end Patryk won, because his car had more trunk space.

After that, all that remained was a few last minute touch-ups to the apartment before they headed out together. The living room had been tided and kitchen cleaned. In Tord’s room, all of the dirty clothes had been gathered up off the floor and put in his mesh hamper, old homework assignments retrieved and promptly recycled out back. Paul wondered a few times if they should light some candles, but Patryk always shot down the idea, on the grounds that a tacky decoration was not worth the risk of setting the apartment on fire.

“I’ve left some of my favorite shirts here,” he said. “What’ll I do if they go up in flames?”

It wasn’t an intentional thing, for him to have a mini wardrobe at Paul’s apartment, but ever since he started sleeping over more regularly his clothes had started to accumulate, and rather than question it they had both come to accept it as part and parcel of what they were now. Boyfriends.

Every time Patryk remembered that fact, he had to stop whatever he was doing and try not to grin like an idiot.

It hadn’t been as easy a conclusion to come to as he had expected. Despite the fact that neither of them ever ended up on the couch, the morning after their first kiss had still been awkward, as both of them realized that they had now taken a step that they could never come back from. It had taken much more talking and many assurances before both of them were confident that the other was just as excited to move forward with this, and even after that it had taken a week before Paul could make himself say the word.

Now, though, the day they were to pick up Silje from the airport, they were much more settled into the idea. Back at Patryk’s apartment, the TV was always turned to cartoons when he turned it on for the morning news, and here, he had memorized where all the plates and utensils belonged and was able to rush through the dishes without a single moment wasted on aimless searching.

He was putting the last of the silverware away when Paul appeared in the doorway.

“Wait, you did all of it?” he said. “Oh, Patryk, you didn’t have to do that, I told you I’d help and—”

“It’s fine, Paul,” Patryk said. “You were busy with the bathroom, I figured I might as well be useful.” He stepped forward and smiled, entwining his fingers around Paul’s. The other man stopped talking and took a slow, deep breath. His shoulders looked tense.

“Is Tord ready to go?” Patryk asked.

“I’m ready.”

Both men turned to the boy as he walked down the hall and into the living room, looking up at them as he approached with a neutral expression. Patryk tried to smile at him, but it wasn’t returned. He felt Paul’s hand tighten around his, and he didn’t think it was on purpose.

Tord had given up his silent act after a couple days, but since then there had been a constant lingering sense of tension that seemed to grow more powerful the closer he and Paul came to each other. Tord seemed, on the outside, unbothered by it, but Patryk could see the way it crushed Paul every time it became noticeable, and he wished there was something he could offer beyond a few empty words of encouragement and promises that things would have to get better at some point.

“Well, in that case,” Patryk said, cutting into the awkward silence, “guess we’d better get going. Paul?”

“Yeah, sure,” he said, but his voice was lackluster and he was no longer able to meet Patryk’s eyes. Patryk knew that he had been hoping to have this resolved for when Silje arrived, but now it seemed that they had run out of time, and Silje’s first meeting with her son would take place beneath this storm cloud.

They filed out, Paul in the rear so he could lock the door behind them. Then it was down the stairs and out the door, with Patryk leading them all the way to his car.

The drive over felt too short, despite the fact that none of them talked much. Patryk wished he could be more excited than he was, but Paul’s gloom weighed on him, and although it didn’t push him all the way to sadness he was still aware of a heavy feeling in the air as he pulled into the carpark.

Tord slipped out first, slamming the door behind him without a word. Patryk glanced back, but the only thing he could see of the boy were his two hair spikes, sticking up just in view of the window.

“It’s going to be fine,” Patryk said. He wasn’t sure whether he was talking about Tord or Silje.

“Right,” Paul said. They both knew that it didn’t matter if he was convinced or not. The most important thing was just getting out of the car, and then putting one foot in front of the other until they were inside.

Tord led the way, despite never having been to the airport in his life. Paul himself had only been here a couple of times before, and that had been as a child, traveling with his parents. Patryk was the only one with any recent memory of the layout, but he still allowed Tord to walk ahead of them, knowing that the boy could figure it out well enough on his own. He and Paul started out holding hands, but as the check-in desks came into view, he pulled free to subtly point forward.

“Is that her?” he asked.

Patryk squinted at a woman further down, wearing a bright red sweater.

“No,” he said. “At least, I’m pretty sure it’s not. It’s been a while since I last saw her, I guess she might have changed since then.” His eyes searched around the room, hopeful that they might fall on a face that sparked some recognition, to no avail.

“Has her flight even arrived yet?” Paul asked.

“It should have,” Patryk said. He looked around. In front of the check-in desks, there were large monitors displaying the arrival and departure time for each plane coming through the airport that day. He took a step toward it.

“Keep an eye on Tord for a moment,” he said.

“Uh.”

Paul’s voice made him stop and turn. Then he turned again, wheeling around as he searched the sprawling room.

Tord was gone.

“Where did he go?” Patryk asked.

“I have no idea,” Paul said. He was looking around frantically, whipping this way and that as he searched the room. “I don’t know. How could he just disappear like that, I don’t understand, he was here just a second ago—”

“Come on, Paul, stay calm,” Patryk said, stepping back to him and raising his hands placatingly. “It’s going to be okay. We just have to talk to someone, they’ll make an announcement. It’ll be okay.”

“Okay, okay,” Paul said. He was shaking a bit, but he seemed to be holding himself together. “It just doesn’t make any sense, he was right there.”

“I know,” Patryk said. “But he’s a short kid. He’s probably still in this room, we just have to find him.”

“Right.” Paul’s breaths were evening out, Patryk was glad to see, and the tenseness of his shoulders was ebbing away. Still, his eyes were flicking over the room, back and forth, until they focused on a single point. “There!”

Patryk looked, surprised at the amount of relief he felt as he spotted the familiar red hoody and unruly hair across the room. He cupped his hands around his mouth.

“Tord!” he called. He heard Paul splutter beside him and turned, curious at the intense red blush that had appeared on his cheeks. Paul looked away, but the blush was still apparent on the tips of his ears.

“You don’t have to yell like that,” he said. “People are looking now.”

“So?” Patryk didn’t understand what the problem was, but, seeing that Paul was uncomfortable, he dropped his hands and turned his attention back to Tord, who had apparently missed the call anyway. “Come on,” he said. “We can catch up to him.”

They set off across the long room, eyes trained on Tord’s back. He was moving quickly, but Patryk didn’t bother to pay attention to his destination, focused just on getting to him. He could hear Paul keeping up behind him, and in a few moments they were close enough to Tord that yelling was no longer necessary.

“Tord!” Paul said it this time.

Tord turned. There was a look on his face like he’d forgotten entirely about the two men, having been too busy approaching whatever it was that had stolen his attention. For the first time Patryk wondered what that thing had been in the first place, so he glanced up, beyond the spiky hair, and he felt his heart skip a beat.

“Tord what are you doing?” Paul asked, still looking down to his son. “Where were you… Oh.”

She stood then, her full height towering over the two men as they approached. Her hair was longer now, curls spilling over her shoulders, but they both recognized her as soon as they looked up into her eyes and regarded her powerful stance. A mountain of a woman.

“Hey!” Patryk was the first to find his voice. He raised a hand in greeting, trying his best to smile at her. “There you are.”

Seemingly against all odds, Silje returned the smile.

“Here I am,” she said. With that, she let go of her luggage and stepped forward. Patryk wasn’t sure what she was doing until he’d been wrapped up in a crushing hug, and a moment later he returned it, wrapping his arms around her and squeezing. “It’s good to see you again.”

“You too,” Patryk said.

They separated. Silje stepped back before turning to Paul, and she seemed ready to approach him similarly. Something made her stop, though, and she kept her distance, raising a hand in greeting as he did the same.

“And you, Paul,” she said.

“Same here.” His expression betrayed more of his excitement than his words did, a grin threatening to break out at any moment and his cheeks rosy. He stepped forward, not all the way to her, just far enough that he and Patryk were side by side, with Tord standing between them.

Silje looked down to him. Her expression remained relaxed, even as she leaned down and came to eye level with him.

“Tord,” she said, “did Paul and Patryk tell you who I am?”

“You’re Silje?” he guessed.

“That’s my name,” she said, “but do you how I know you?”

Tord stared at her. Given his mood earlier that day, Patryk had been expecting a bit of an annoyed reaction to Silje, and that maybe Tord would ignore her outright or antagonize her. Neither of those things happened, though, and it came as such a shock to Patryk that he almost didn’t notice the tears that pooled in Tord’s eyes. At least it was impossible to ignore the sobs that broke out as Tord stared ahead, shaking all over.

“Tord, hey,” Paul said, laying a hand on his son’s shoulder. “It’s okay, it’s not a big deal. You remember who Silje is, right? What I told you?”

Tord nodded, but still said nothing, his small gasps being the only sound he made. Silje was still calm, but her composure had been slightly broken, and she kept looking up to the two men as if they might have some solution. Paul was still trying to comfort Tord, so Patryk kneeled down as well, so they were all clustered around the boy.

“Tord,” he said, “you can just call her Silje, if you want.”

Tord looked to him. He face was streaked with tears and his nose was running, but in an instant his sobs had stopped. He nodded once, then wiped his sleeve across his face and turned back to the woman, who was still trying her best to remain stoic despite her confusion.

“Yeah, I know,” he said. His voice came out weak, but it gained strength as he spoke. “Paul told me about you, Silje.”

“Good,” she said as Tord wiped his face again. She seemed pleased, Patryk noticed. Not in the way he had imagined, with large smiles and hugging and plenty of outward joy amongst them. But this quiet happiness was nice too, and in the moment he knew that there was nothing more he wanted. He looked to Paul, now standing and looking down on the pair in admiration, and they caught one another’s eyes. Paul reached over and they clasped their hands together, letting them hang just above Tord’s head.

“Ah.” Silje had looked up, and she stared at their hands for a moment before she looked up at Patryk, surprisingly pleased. “I said you would find him, didn’t I?”

Patryk had to laugh at that. Paul was blushing and smiling, and Tord was staring at Silje with a slowly dawning wonder. It struck Patryk how many times he had imagined this moment, all the different ways it could have gone, but he found that none of it mattered much anymore. All of the people he loved had reunited. There was nothing left he could think to ask for.

The drive home was full of questions. It seemed that Silje wanted to make up for every moment she’d missed in the course of thirty minutes. Most of them were about Tord, what school was like for him, who his friends were, but she had plenty for Paul and Patryk as well, such as their work and how they’d managed to find each other after so long. Patryk noticed the way Paul’s voice went quiet sometimes, like when Silje asked what Tord’s teachers were like, and he was quick to fill in the gaps with little stories, whatever it took to distract her from Paul’s discomfort.

They arrived at Paul’s apartment and Patryk carried her suitcase up the stairs, lagging far behind while Paul and Tord showed her the way. He didn’t think himself the type to be defensive of his masculinity, but he did still try to keep his cool as he lugged the heavy thing up so many flights of stairs, grateful at last when he reached Paul’s floor and was able to set it on its wheels. He turned the corner just in time to see Tord and Silje disappearing inside the apartment, although Paul had hung back, watching he he approached with the suitcase rolling behind him.

“You alright?” he asked, the faintest hint of amusement on his face.

Patryk just smiled.

“Yep,” he said, ignoring his pounding heart and the throbbing in his legs. “How about you, holding up?”

Paul took a moment to consider, Patryk noticed, furrowing his bushy brows as he gave serious thought to Patryk’s question. He relaxed a moment later, though, an easy smile settling onto his features.

“Yeah,” he said. “Things are alright.”

They stepped into the apartment together. Tord was leading Silje around, introducing her to each room and explaining whatever little details caught his attention. Silje herself was hooked on every word, and she spent less time looking around the apartment than she did staring at Tord, watching the way he moved his hands, nodding sometimes but never interrupting his long explanations.

“Do you think we cleaned up enough?” Paul whispered. Patryk looked over and was surprised at the tenseness in his shoulders and the way his fingers played with the loose fabric of his shirt.

“I’m sure it’s fine,” Patryk promised. “It looks lovely in here.”

He truly meant it, too. Without the random bits and pieces lying all around, it was easier to appreciate the small apartment, from the soft furniture to the way light fell between the curtains. It was still dustier than Patryk might have preferred, and there were various stains on the furniture he hadn’t been able to scrub out, but overall it was a nice-looking space, and he felt proud to have helped get it to that point.

“Wait here,” he heard Tord say as they walked up. It was a funny sight, a child already short for his age commanding such a tall person, but Silje listened to him, freezing where she stood and watching as he darted back to his room. Patryk heard the sound of a closet door opening.

“He wants to show you something?” Patryk asked.

Silje looked back and nodded.

“You might want to take a seat, then,” Paul said, backing onto the sofa. “He’s going to be in there a while.”

Patryk tried not to laugh as he remembered that morning, watching Tord stuff everything from his room into his closet, piling old schoolbooks on top of folded bedsheets and unused toys. He slammed the door when he was done, and Patryk had heard the distinct sound of precarious piles falling over. He’d thought they’d come to a silent agreement not to open it again while Silje was still there, but apparently whatever he had to get was important enough to brave the danger. He tried to imagine what it could be as he and Silje joined Paul on the sofa, but his mind came up blank, too many possibilities for him to settle on any one.

“He seems happy,” Silje said. She was still gazing down the hall, as though she was afraid she might miss the moment Tord reappeared.

“Doesn’t he?” Patryk said. He glanced over to Paul and forced himself not to laugh as a pink blush spread across the man’s cheeks.

“I’m so glad,” Silje murmured. At last she tore her eyes away from the doorway and back to the two men sitting beside her. If she noticed Paul’s blush, she didn’t mention it. “Does he like school?”

Patryk was surprised at the abruptness of the question, and the feeling doubled as he looked into her eyes and saw a deadly seriousness there which had not been present even moments before. He tried to figure out what had caused the sudden shift, when it dawned on him that his earlier attempts to steer the conversation might not have gone unnoticed. Silje was staring at them, and the weight of her gaze made Patryk want to crumple into a ball, or just disappear entirely.

“He likes the topics they cover,” Paul said. Patryk immediately felt a wave of guilt for being silent for so long, forcing Paul to take the reigns on this conversation, but he squashed down the feeling, intent on giving Paul the space to talk. “He comes home and tells me about them sometimes, I honestly don’t understand half of it but it seems like he’s really invested in everything.”

“So he’s a good student?” Silje asked.

Paul hesitated.

“Not exactly,” he said. “He doesn’t get along well with the teacher much, or the other students. Really, he’d love school if he just didn’t have to go to school.” He tried to laugh at that, but it sounded forced and uncomfortable. Patryk thought that was the end of it, but then he went on, voice quieter, “He’s gotten into a couple fights. Nothing major, no one was really hurt, but, yeah.”

Patryk had expected Silje to be enraged at that, so the fact that her reaction was anything less than frothing anger came as a relief to him.

“I see,” she said. Her tone reminded Patryk so much of his own mother’s that it was a wonder she had only met her son an hour before. “Well, if you would ever like to try something different, there are many good schools in Norway that would take him in. I visited many of them over the years, and they maybe be able to give him a better experience than he’s having here.”

Patryk was aware of the way Paul stiffened at the suggestion, but he didn’t think much of it because of the uncomfortable tightness he felt in his own stomach. He wanted to believe it was an innocent suggestion, but his mind went back to the day they’d escape the base, and the proposal Alexander had offered in return for their freedom. He remembered Silje refusing then, but given how much he and Paul were from back then, it wasn’t impossible for her to have changed her mind at some point.

“You want to take him back,” Paul stated.

“Silje,” Patryk said, “I know things have improved in Norway since I left, but do you really think it’s safe for Tord to be there?” He could feel Paul’s eyes on him, some questions already forming, but Patryk didn’t know how to address them while still trying to figure out what Silje’s motive was. He promised himself that he would give Paul the attention he needed in a moment, he just had to settle this first, for his own sake.

“Of course it’s safe, I wouldn’t put Tord in harm’s way,” Silje said. “But it’s where his family is from. He ought to know more about his home country, don’t you think?”

 _Tord’s family_. Patryk didn’t know if that meant Alexander, but the connection was too close and the twisting in his stomach got worse. He didn’t want to believe that Silje would betray them like this, but if she did, then it would be Patryk’s fault that she managed to find them at all, and that thought was the reason he couldn’t make eye contact with Paul when the man turned to him.

“It’s still dangerous in Norway?” he asked.

“Maybe?” Patryk said.

“No, it’s not,” Silje insisted. “I live there, Patryk, and I can promise you the violence is over. It’s safe.”

“But what if Alexander is still looking for them?” he demanded.

He wasn’t expecting the sudden silence his question was met with. Silje was looking at Paul, while Paul was staring at him, and he knew at once that he wouldn’t be able to avoid or sidestep whatever Paul asked next, not without putting everything they had done together in serious jeopardy.

“My father was looking for us?” Paul asked. “How do you know?”

Patryk opened his mouth but found that no words could come out. He turned to Silje, but by the cold look in her eyes, he knew that he had already ruined his chance of receiving some aid in his answer. A part of him was also seriously starting to doubt that his suspicion had been warranted, which meant he had crawled into this corner on his own for no real purpose.

“He’s the reason we were able to get out,” Patryk said. He saw Paul’s expression twitch, the tiniest sign of his own disbelief, and Patryk found that he had to look away before it grew to anything more intense. “We made an agreement, he would show us the way out if we promised to come back with Tord once things at the base calmed down. You know we wouldn’t have gone through with it, but we had to tell him we would, otherwise we wouldn’t have survived.”

“If I remember correctly,” Silje interrupted, “you were under the impression that we  _were_  going to do as he told us. I had to explain to you why that was a bad idea.”

“I’m sorry, yes, you’re right,” Patryk said, feeling himself turn beet red as the memory slid back into place, how easily he’d accepted the general’s command. He was grateful that Silje had gotten roped into the thing as well to set him straight. “It’s been a while, I forgot, but yes. At the time, it sounded really ideal. Tord would be protected and taken care of, and all that uncertainty we were facing would have been gone.”

“And he wouldn’t have been with me,” Paul said.

“I wasn’t thinking about it like that,” Patryk explained, desperate for Paul to understand. “I just assumed you would be there, too. I couldn’t imagine that your father would want just his grandson back without his own son, it just didn’t occur to me.”

“I get it, Patryk.” Paul’s voice made Patryk stop talking immediately, and he sat by nervously, watching as Paul stood from the couch and started to pace the short length of the living room.

“Frankly, I’m not surprised you wanted to go with the plan, that seems like you something you would do,” Paul said. “I’m not mad about that.” For a moment, Patryk felt hopeful, but then Paul rubbed at his face with his hands and he knew it would not be so simple.

“I just,” Paul went on, the heat of his anger starting to show in his voice, “don’t understand why it had to be a secret this long. You two have always done this thing, you make plans together and then leave me out of it, even when it seriously affects me and Tord. I thought we were done keeping things from each other.”

“We are,” Patryk said, but Paul scoffed.

“Explain this, then,” he snapped. “The only reason you made it here is because my father sent you to steal Tord. You’ve known for years that he wanted him, and yet in all the months we’ve been together, you never told me about it. There could still be people out looking for him, Patryk! This is serious, and you decided not to tell me because… why?”

Patryk wanted to answer, but his brain was stalling, and he was having a hard time remembering the past few months as he was so caught up on the fact that Paul was  _angry_  at him. It was a jarring experience, one more upsetting than he would have expected, and his mind kept coming back to that instead of supplying him with any sort of answer for Paul’s question.

“Paul, sit down,” Silje said, both of the men snapping their attention to her and Patryk silently grateful to have the distraction from his own swirling thoughts. “Can’t you see you’re flustering him pacing around like that? We’re never going to get anywhere if you keep that up, come here.”

Paul stared at her for a moment before he stalked over, sitting heavily on the sofa in between them. Patryk felt the way the cushion bounced beneath him and it made him tense up, slightly uncomfortable to be so close to the other man while he anger was still hot. At least Paul wasn’t looking at him now, his glare fixed on Silje.

“Now listen to me,” Silje said, “so much has happened from the moment we met. We’ve all seen and experienced terrible things, and we’ve had to adjust our lives to deal with them and survive. I understand you must have struggled trying to raise Tord, and I won’t try to compare my or Patryk’s experiences to that. But life was still hard, and once we were out we had to move on and start thinking about what to do next, not what we were leaving behind. You cannot fault Patryk for forgetting to tell you that one thing, even if Alexander were still a threat.”

Paul glanced back at Patryk, then cast his eyes down. Some of his anger seemed to be fading, but he was still tense and clearly unhappy.

“That wasn’t the only thing,” he said. Patryk immediately knew where this was headed, and he wasn’t sure whether he should stop it or not. “Joel is here, in London. We ran into him recently, and he told me some things about the army concerning you and Tord.” He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. It felt like all the world around them was standing still, waiting for Paul to gather up every last ounce of his courage. “He’s not mine, is he?”

Silje was still staring at Paul, but her expression had softened. Patryk noticed that Paul, too, had relaxed a bit, and he wondered if part of the tension had been caused by that question building up in him, desperate to be asked but fighting against his fear of the answer.

“I always considered him your son,” Silje said. “From the moment I realized he was there, I knew that there was no one else I could imagine as his father or trust with his life. No offense, Patryk,” she said, briefly, turning to him, “I trusted you, of course, but you were too young to raise a child. I wasn’t sure you would have been up for it.”

“So instead you put all the pressure on me,” Paul said. He wasn’t angry anymore, but his voice was firm as he spoke. “Do you have any idea how hard it’s been for me, trying to raise Tord on my own all these years? Can you even imagine?”

“I can’t,” Silje said. She had turned away from Patryk, which he preferred, knowing that this conversation had very little to do with him. “And I’m sorry, Paul, for putting you through all of that. But I had to make a choice, and I did that which I thought would keep all the people I love safe. You understand what I mean, don’t you?”

Paul sighed. He looked exhausted, Patryk realized, probably as a result of looking back on all the years and remembering what he had been through. Noticing Paul’s open hand lying beside his lap, Patryk reached down and linked their fingers together. Paul didn’t say anything to acknowledge the touch, but he squeezed Patryk’s hand once before relaxing again.

“I do,” he said. “I mean, I really owe Tord my life. If I hadn’t been thinking about keeping him safe that night, or worked so hard to make sure he had food and a place to call home after that, I probably wouldn’t have made it.” He looked to Patryk, making eye contact for a single moment. “I wouldn’t be here today.”

“I’m sorry for lying to you,” Silje said, turning their attention back to her. “I have no idea who Tord’s biological father is, there was never any way for me to tell. But, in my mind, it never made a difference, and today it still doesn’t. I’m glad you had each other, Paul. From the sound of it, you both needed one another. At the same time, I apologize for my dishonesty. I hope that in some way I might be able to make it up to you in the future.”

Paul pulled Patryk’s hand closer to his body, causing Patryk to scoot over as well. His relaxation was giving way to relief, and he looked almost like he might topple over from the weight of it now, the burdens that had so long sat on his shoulders now being pushed aside like stones in a river.

“I need help,” he said. “And I don’t know what that means exactly, just that I don’t want to do this alone anymore.” He looked to Patryk and smiled, and Patryk all at once imagined he could fly, his happiness lightening his body and easing away the last shreds of his tension. Paul turned back to Silje.

“I’m not giving up on him,” he said. “I know there are a lot of ways I’ve gone wrong over the years, but I still want to do all I can to give him the life he deserves. And I know that I can’t do that if he’s shipped off to some school in Norway. So, please, Silje,” he said, the tiniest hint of desperation in his voice, “please don’t take my son away.”

“I won’t,” she promised.

Patryk looked between the two people beside him, his friend and his boyfriend, and he felt grateful for the fact that thing had worked out so well. He could also see that the conversation had exhausted them, though, and he thought it best to help them all move on for the time being.

“Are you ready to see what Tord wanted to show us?” he asked. Paul looked to Silje and she nodded, so Patryk called down the hall to Tord’s room.

The boy poked his head out nervously, taking a moment before he slid into view the rest of the way and stood in front of the adults. Patryk doubted that he had heard all the details of the conversation, but he seemed aware that tensions had been high, and now he held back for the briefest moment, eyes flicking between the three waiting faces before coming to rest on Paul’s. Paul didn’t say anything, just nodded at him once. Tord returned the nod, then walked forward.

He was carrying a sketchbook, Patryk realized, and once he was a few feet away from the couch he opened it and started to slip through the pages, holding it close to his chest so none of the adults could see its contents. Patryk saw many splashes of color, but only one seemed to matter to Tord, and as soon as he found it he turned his sketchbook around to show them.

It took a moment to understand what Patryk was looking at, as it just seemed to be a collection of red rectangles stack on top of each other. Staring at it long enough, though, he at last realized it was a robot.

“You designed that, Tord?” Paul asked as he gazed at the drawing. Patryk wondered if he had ever seen it before.

“Yeah. It’s my giant robot,” Tord said. “I’m going to use it to take over the world.”

Silje laughed, but when Patryk looked over, there was real pride on her faces.

“Does it have rockets?” she asked.

“Uh-huh. And lasers!” Tord said. He was grinning and nearly bouncing on his feet, excited by the rush of attention. As he started to go in-depth about all of the cool things his robot could do in his quest for world domination, Patryk found his gaze drifting over to the two adults beside him, and in his mind, he wondered if this was how things had always meant to be, and if the last seven years were simply a fluke. It was more complicated than that, he knew, but it was nice to think that they could finally move on. Even if there was still so much left to do to fix what had been broken, he also wanted to appreciate this moment, and even look forward to more like it in the future.

Paul hadn’t let go of his hand, yet, nor did it seem he intended to. Patryk was fine with that, he held on and leaned close to Paul while they listened to Tord talk, and after several minutes he realized that Silje had been right. He’d found them.


	16. Beginnings

  1. _Go to therapy_
  2. _Pick up Tord_
  3. _Don’t forget the [scratched out]_



Paul didn’t know why he still wrote lists for himself. He never needed them, and more often than not they ended up going through the wash with whatever pants he’d been wearing that day, coming out as stone-like balls of paper to be tossed in the bin. Still, he kept making them. There was something relaxing about writing everything down, he’d found, and it did provide some relief to know exactly what he had to do over the course of each day. That didn’t mean he was any less stressed as he skipped up the steps to Silje’s apartment twenty minutes late, but at least it had been a nice day leading up to that moment.

He knocked twice on the door, then stepped back to catch his breath while he listened the footsteps on the other side. Silje opened it, a hand on her hip.

“You finally showed up,” she said.

“The session went a little long,” Paul explained. Silje stared at him a moment, then the serious expression melted away and she chuckled.

“Better be careful,” she said, “spend too much time with that doctor and Patryk might get jealous.”

“I’m not really worried about that,” Paul said with a nervous grin. Silje seemed to notice the change in his demeanor, but before she could say anything, they both heard footsteps pounding behind her. They turned to look just as Tord sped forward, colliding into Paul and pushing backwards with the force of his hug. He felt something hard pressed into his back.

“Happy birthday, Tord,” Paul said as he leaned down to return the hug. Tord grinned up at him with a smile that was missing one tooth, his ever-messy hair flopping back and showing his sparkling eyes.

“Look what Silje got me!” he said, pulling back to show Paul a small anime figurine. She was wearing a reasonable amount of clothes, Paul was grateful to see, and she had a cute smile on her face that went well with her large, painted-on eyes.

“It’s cute,” he said, and that was all he got out before Tord dropped his hand and turned around, racing back to his room.

“I’m gonna get my stuff!” he shouted without looking back.

Paul watched him go a moment, then looked to Silje.

“Do you have any idea who that character is?” he asked.

“No idea,” she said. “He said she’s his favorite, though.”

Paul hummed and smiled. He knew that Tord had a lot of favorites, and he doubted this one was any more special than the others. More likely than not, when it came time to buy his own present, Tord would find something else that was his absolute favorite and demand that Paul get that for him, too. Not that Paul minded, it was nice to see Tord so carefree and happy, and even if the toy wasn’t all that unique he had still seen the pride with which Tord had gripped it.

He noticed that Silje was staring at him. He tried to smile at her again, but it didn’t make her prying look go away.

“Are you alright, Paul?” she asked. He bit his lip to keep from laughing.

“Yeah,” he said. “Just excited, I guess.”

“Hm?” Silje looked like she meant to ask more, but the sound of footsteps distracted them both as Tord appeared yet again. He was still holding the figurine in one hand, but now he also wore his new purple backpack, a gift from Patryk. He’s meant it just to be a book bag for Tord to take to school, but it had become a sort of all-purpose sack, and now it was rare to see him without its straps over his shoulders. Paul knew it was impossible to say what was inside the bag at any given moment, but from experience he knew that a weekend with Silje probably meant clothes and his sketchbook. About half the time he would bring along his homework as well.

“Let’s go, come on,” Tord said, already out the door and walking down the hall.

“Tord!” Paul cried, more of surprise than anything else. Silje looked amused.

“What?” Tord turned back to them. He glanced up at Silje then, in two swift bounds, ran back to her and pulled her into a quick hug. “Thanks for the gift, Silje,” he said. “I had fun.” Then he let go again and looked to Paul, although his body seemed like it was ready to skip back down the hall. Paul glanced to Silje.

“We’ll talk later,” he promised.

“Okay,” she said, before smiling down at Tord. “Happy birthday.”

Tord barely listened, already flying down the hall with Paul close behind. He continued to lead the way as they walked home, talking about everything that had happened in the three days since they’d last seen each other. He chattered on and on, hardly stopping to take a breath or give Paul a chance to speak up, but Paul didn’t mind. In fact, he loved to hear Tord talk about the things that made him happy, and he eagerly hung onto every word.

“The teacher’s really nice,” Tord said as they came within sight of Patryk’s apartment. “I left my maths at home on Friday, but she promised I could bring it in Monday and it would be okay.”

“That was nice of her,” Paul mused.

“Only, she almost wasn’t going to,” Tord went on, not seeming to notice that Paul had said anything. “I don’t think she believed me. But then Edd, Matt, and Tom showed how I helped them with their homework, so then she did.”

“Who are Matt and Tom?” Paul asked.

“They’re my friends. Well, they were Edd’s first, but he introduced me to them last week.” He adjusted his backpack straps the way an older person might adjust their glasses. “Matt’s pretty cool, but Tom’s a dick.”

“You don’t say that at school, do you?” Paul asked. After all of the work it had taken to pull Tord out of his old school and register him for the one closer to Patryk’s apartment, Paul wasn’t sure he could handle his son being expelled on the grounds of impolite language.

“Nah, I’m careful,” Tord said. “And anyway, like I said, the teacher’s nice.”

Paul was glad Tord felt so comfortable in the class, but Tord’s words alone did little to ease his worry. In his mind, then, he reminded himself of all the talks he’d had with this teacher before the beginning of the school year, during which they’d gone over the problems they’d had at Tord’s previous school and solutions they’d already tried. Together, they’d made a plan to help Tord adjust to the new environment, and she had promised Paul that she would make every effort to help Tord transition before the need arose for disciplinary action. He clung to that promise, trusting that they were all doing their best to keep Tord on the right path, and that all of this work would be worth it in the end.

He had already explained these talks with Tord enough that he felt no need to mention them again in the present, so he was silent as he unlocked the front door and led the way up the single flight of stairs, to the landing with Patryk’s door. Before he opened it, though, he paused in his tracks and looked back to Tord, standing just behind him with his hands wrapped around the straps of his backpack.

“You remember the plan, right?” Paul asked. He was aware of how grave he sounded, so he tried to lighten his tone as he went on, “We’re going to keep it simple.”

“Right,” Tord said. He grinned at Paul. “You’ve got this!”

Paul wished he had his son’s levels of confidence, but Tord’s words did give him the drive to open the door and let them in, breathing in lovely cooking aromas wafting out from the kitchen. Patryk, busy at the stove, looked up and smiled as they entered, glancing at Paul for a brief moment before his eyes settled on Tord.

“Happy birthday, Tord!”

“Thanks, Patryk,” the boy said as he rushed in, dumping his backpack onto the sofa before disappearing into his room. Paul walked in more casually, shutting the door behind him before he stepped into the kitchen and pressed a quick kiss to Patryk’s cheek.

“Can’t believe you’re cooking already,” he murmured. “We still doing our plan?” He did his best to make the question sound casual, despite the little twist he felt in his stomach. Everything depended on Patryk following through with their idea.

But, he reminded himself, there would be other opportunities down the road if this didn’t work out. The most important part of the plan was sitting in his back pocket, and in reality all he needed was a good opportunity to pull it out.

“Of course,” Patryk said with a gentle smile, clasping Paul’s hand with his own. “They’re still in the cabinet, right where you left them.”

Paul walked over and opened the cupboard, pulling out a brown cardboard to-go box. He tried not to let his relief be too noticeable, but he had to let out a small sigh, grateful that things were working out so far. Although, there was still a long way to go for him to consider this whole thing a success.

“Tord,” he called, “you want to come back out here for a minute?”

Tord reappeared from his room, a small space that had been Patryk’s office before they moved in. Paul had been nervous about it at first, the idea of taking that small amount of private space from him, but, with assurances from Patryk, he had eventually come to terms with it. Now, Tord peeked out from it, and as he looked around his eyes zeroed in on the box in Paul’s hands. This was the one part of the plan he had kept secret from his son up until now, and he could see the excitement bloom on Tord’s face right before he rushed forward and took a seat on one of the tall stools facing in toward the kitchen

“Happy birthday to you,” Paul started to sing, and Patryk joined him, singing the song through while Tord watched them and laughed. As they came to a close, Paul set down the box and opened it up, revealing three perfect cupcakes, each topped with a dollop of blue frosting.

“Happy birthday, Tord,” Patryk said. “Just something I whipped up this morning.”

“Thanks, Patryk!” Tord said before reaching forward and grabbing one. Paul watched as he bit into it before he chose one for himself and Patryk took the third. He held the little desert his in hands, admiring the frosting but hesitant to take a bite, given the way his nerves continued to swirl and tug at his stomach. He caught Tord’s eye and they stared at each other for a second before Paul gave the tiniest nod of his head, knowing that Tord would recognize the signal.

“These are really good,” Tord said to Patryk. “They remind me of the day we met.” He glanced to Paul for approval and, upon receiving a second nod, went back to enjoying his cupcake.

“Huh, I guess you’re right,” Patryk said, looking down at them. “Good memory, Tord, that feels like forever ago now.”

“Doesn’t it?” Paul said. He set the cupcake down and turned to Patryk, facing him fully. His heart was racing, but he was able to keep his mind focused, looking up into Patryk’s eyes where a hint of confusion was already starting to form.

“Before we met, Patryk, the idea of forever sounded exhausting to me. I didn’t think I could commit to anything that long, whether because I was afraid or I knew I would mess it up somehow. But, you’ve made me realize that there are some things I want to do forever.” He swallowed. “Like, being by your side, and supporting you the way you do me. I’m willing to work hard to make sure that never ends.”

Patryk had set aside the half-eaten cake.

“Paul…” he murmured, their eyes locked. Paul wasn’t sure what emotion was in his voice, but it didn’t sound bad. He clung to that as he went on.

“Patryk,” he said, “if you’d let me, I’d like to spend the rest of my life with you.”

He lowered himself down to one knee. Patryk had one hand to his mouth, while the other gripped the counter, as if he was trying to hold onto this moment as long as possible. Paul’s heart was racing, and there was an eternity between every heartbeat.

“I love you.” He reached to his back pocket. “Will you…”

He stumbled. He searched his other pocket, and felt a stone of dread land in his stomach.

“Oh, Paul,” Patryk said, “of course I’ll—”

“Oh god, no no no!” Paul shot up, surprising both of them with his exclamation. Even Tord looked up, eyes wide and curious at his dad’s outburst. Paul immediately felt sheepish, which did nothing to ease his heart, now somehow beating even faster than it had moments before.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, too embarrassed now to talk any louder. “I, uh… I lost the ring.”

“Paul!” Tord cried out indignantly.

“I’m sorry!” Paul repeated. “I thought I left it in my pocket, it- it must have slipped out.” He pushed a hand through his hair. He needed to slow down and think about where he’d been that day and what might have happened to the box, but he could feel himself starting to panic as his thoughts picked up speed and his heart pounded in his chest, he’d lost the ring, how could he  _do_  that—

“I’ll find it,” he said. He needed to find it. “It must be here somewhere. Just, hang on, I’ll find it. Don’t move.” He backed away from Patryk, turning first to the living room, then up to the bedroom. It didn’t make sense for it to be in either of those places, but he had to look everywhere, the ring had been  _expensive_  and he wouldn’t be able to afford a replacement for at least a month. He went to the living room, started searching between couch cushions and under chairs, knowing that it was hopeless but too desperate and afraid to leave them alone. Maybe he would get lucky and it would appear somewhere it shouldn’t have been, that’s how he had ended up with Patryk after all.

“Paul, this isn’t the end of the world, let’s just think it through rationally,” Patryk said, and that made Paul’s heart beat faster, because he knew he was being irrational and there was nothing he could seem to do to change it. He pushed his hand through his hair again. He needed to think, but it was so hard with all of his thoughts crashing into each other at once. Patryk would always remember this day as the one where Paul lost the ring, no matter where or if they found it, this moment would always be seared into their minds.

He needed to focus, but he couldn’t. He needed to be calm, calm down, stay calm…

His heart was still pounding. He couldn’t find the ring, nothing was  _working_.

He hadn’t checked the bedroom yet. It could still be there, fallen into the closet somehow, he would look there and everything would be okay, he could still save this day and he could still ask Patryk and Patryk would still say yes.

Maybe. Maybe Patryk would say yes. Paul was hit with a crushing realization that after a show like this, Patryk would have every reason to say no and even back out altogether, and even if he knew Patryk well enough to say he wouldn’t do that, the fact that the possibility now existed made his heart beat faster and his eyes start to swim with tears. He could lose the money. He could lose the happy memory. But he couldn’t lose Patryk.

“Oh god,” he whispered as the tears dribbled out. “What am I going to do?”

It was then that he felt an arm around his shoulders. Patryk had leaned down beside him and was holding him close, and the firm body beside him at last made Paul realize how much he was shaking.

“It’s okay, Paul,” he said. “We’ll find it, I promise.”

 _But what if we don’t?_  Paul tried to ask, but his throat got caught on the words and he sobbed instead, covering his face with his hand to hide his red eyes.

“I have an idea!” Both men looked up as Tord sped into the living room, appearing at Patryk’s side in a moment. He carried with him a crinkly wrapper of some sort, and he tore it open, reached in, and pulled out a ringpop, a pink one that seemed to glow when sunlight hit it. He slid the plastic ring onto Patryk’s finger, then stepped back to let Patryk admire it a moment.

“It’s perfect, Tord,” he said before turning to Paul. “Do you like it?”

Paul had to laugh at the sight of it, the garish candy somehow fitting perfectly on Patryk’s finger. He wiped his eyes and nodded.

“Looks great,” he said. He froze, though, when Patryk started to pull it off.

“You can still ask me, if you want,” he said, but Paul shook his head at that and touched Patryk’s hands, making them still.

“No, I still want to do it the right way,” he said. He noticed that Patryk looked disappointed, but he was grateful the man didn’t press the issue, instead sliding the ring back into place.

“Well, I’d prefer you ask me sooner rather than later,” he said. “So we have to find it. Where have you been since you had it this afternoon?”

“Just to the bakery to walk you home, then to Silje’s apartment to pick up Tord,” Paul said.

“That’s not so bad,” Patryk said. “If we go looking now, we should get back in time for me to finish dinner.” He kissed Paul’s temple, then stood up, offering a hand as Paul followed. “This will all be fine, you’ll see.”

They searched the apartment once before they left, and only briefly. Paul would have preferred that they spent more time there, but Patryk insisted that they get a move on, knowing how unlikely it was that they would find it once they’d checked all the obvious places without any luck.

They walked first to Silje’s apartment, retracing the way Paul and Tord had gone and scanning the ground for any sign of the box. Tord ran ahead while Paul and Patryk walked at a slower pace, side by side with their eyes stuck to the ground. Even with his heart hammering and his thoughts still threatening to plunge into despair, there was something nice, Paul found, in getting to take a walk with his family on a sunny afternoon like this. Sometimes he and Patryk held hands, while at other points Tord fell in between them to chat with the two. All the while, Paul kept his eyes down, searching for the thing that would make all of this permanent.

Silje wasn’t home when they arrived, but they searched the ground outside, scouring the pavement and entryway of the apartment. Patryk suggested they leave a note for her, but Paul wasn’t even sure what they should say, given that he hadn’t told her yet what he’d been planning. In the end they agreed that if the ring hadn’t turned up by evening, they would call and ask if she’d seen it, although Paul hoped desperately that it wouldn’t come to that.

With that settled, they turned around and walked back the way they’d come, then toward the bakery. Patryk and Tord’s good spirits continued, but Paul was more on edge than before and found it harder to join in their fun. He couldn’t stop telling himself that this was all pathetic, questioning how he’d managed to lose something so important, something he should have known to keep a close eye on. There was no point in beating himself up over it, he knew, but that fact alone was not enough to make the thoughts stop, and even made them worse when he realized they were distracting him from his search.

It was a relief when they reached the bakery and Patryk unlocked the door to the cool interior, as it meant Paul no longer had to stare at the ground so much. Tord immediately wandered into the back, toward the kitchen, while Paul and Patryk stayed near the door, surveying the tight space. Paul looked to the floor and, seeing nothing, up to the tables, as though he might have pulled out the box at some point and just set it down like an old gum wrapper.

“I don’t see it,” he said.

“Yeah,” Patryk said, and for the first time he sounded a bit worried. Noticing Paul’s disappointment, though, he brightened up, putting on a brave smile. “We’ll check the trash, weird things end up in there sometimes. And if that doesn’t work, we can still call Silje later, if she saw it she definitely would have picked it up. It’s not like it disappeared entirely, it has to be  _somewhere_.”

He was trying to be optimistic, and Paul was grateful for that, but he didn’t have the energy left to reciprocate it.

“Okay. I’m sorry for all this, Patryk,” he said as his shoulders slumped. “I wanted today to be perfect, and instead I’ve just sent us on a wild goose chase.”

“Hey, it’s alright,” Patryk said. “Even if it didn’t go the way you planned it, we still got to spend time together. Plus, even if we don’t find the ring,” he looked down at the ringpop on his finger, “it’s never too late for you to ask me.”

Paul swallowed. He wondered if it had been silly of him to expect this would go perfectly; nothing in their lives had ever been smooth up to this point, and it was doubtful they would get any easier even after they went through with this. Maybe it was best that he not only come to accept this fact, but embrace it.

With that in mind, he gently took Patryk’s left hand and and pulled off the ring, taking care not to tug too hard as he eased it over Patryk’s knuckles. Once it was off, he stopped a moment to observe it. The candy was still bright red and shiny, but a few of the corners were dull where Patryk had licked them. Paul couldn’t help but smile, first at the ring in his hands, then up to Patryk, still watching him in excitement.

Paul took a deep breath, holding out the ringpop.

“Patryk,” he said, “will you—”

“I found it!”

Both men snapped to attention, Paul’s eyes going wide as he saw Tord standing behind the counter triumphantly holding out a small, velvet-lined box with a sticky note stuck to the top of it. Paul was at a loss for words, but Patryk laughed out loud, the smile on his face growing more than Paul thought possible.

“Tord, you’re wonderful!” he said. “Come on, bring it here.”

Tord turned and ran around the counter, bounding forward to shove it into Paul’s hand. At the same time, he took the ringpop, pulling it out of Paul’s grip so the only thing left was the box. The whole thing happened so quickly he barely had time to react, and he was left staring dumbly at it for a moment, the sticky note still shivering from the rush.

_Hey Paul,_

_Saw you drop this, better be more careful when you go for the matching pair. Good luck!_

_-Laurel_

At last, Paul smiled. He peeled the sticky note off and handed it to Tord, who took it without a word.

“Well Patryk,” he said, meeting the man’s eyes once more, “this, uh, this isn’t at all how I expected today to go. It was a bit of a mess, honestly. But just like always, you stuck by me, and I am so, so grateful for that.” He lowered himself down to one knee. All around him, time seemed to stand still for a minute, and it struck him that he was about to cross a certain threshold. It was like a line had been painted over his life: on one side, everything leading up to this question, and on the other, everything that would happen as a result of it. He knew by now that it was impossible to say what was on the other side of the line, that there would always be something mysterious about it and he would never have all the answers.

But he knew, he also knew he would never be alone.

“Patryk,” he said, looking up into eyes he knew like the face of the moon, “will you marry me?”

“Yes. Yes!” Patryk looked like he might cry, and the sight had Paul’s eyes filling with tears. Still, he pulled the ring out of its box and eased it onto Patryk’s waiting finger, feeling his stomach clench at the sight. It fit perfectly, and gleamed in the sunlight.

It was then that Paul started to cry in earnest, the tears spilling out over his smile, and Patryk dropped down to pull him into a hug, both of them holding each other so tightly it was as though they would never let go. He realized that Patryk, too, was shaking, but they managed to stabilize each other somehow, acting as anchors against the rocking tidal waves of their own emotions.

Patryk pulled back just far enough to kiss him, a feeling so comforting and familiar now it was like coming home. They separated after just a moment, and Patryk raised his hand to wipe away a few of Paul’s tears before he leaned their foreheads together.

“Thank you for asking me,” he whispered. “You’ve made me the happiest man in the world, Paul, I only hope I can return the favor.”

“You already have,” Paul said, although his voice croaked on the last word as a fresh wave of tears surface, drowning out everything else he’d meant to say. Patryk wiped them away and kissed him again before leaning back and looking to Tord. The boy offered the ringpop back and Patryk took it, sliding it onto his right hand. Paul had to stare.

“You’re still going to wear it?” he asked.

“It’s a ringpop, Paul, I’m not letting it go to waste,” Patryk said, taking a quick lick.

Paul looked down to Tord. The boy was staring up at them with shining eyes, and although for a moment Paul worried he was about to cry, too, he laughed suddenly and dove forward, pulling them into a hug.

“You two are gonna make the best husbands!” he shouted.

Paul left one arm around Patryk while he wrapped the other around Tord, grinning as he saw his boyf—  _fiancé_  do the same, so that they formed a ring.

“I’m going to try my best,” he promised, and a nod from Patryk showed that he intended the same. It was all they could do, and for Paul, it was more than enough.

-

It was a quiet walk back to the apartment. Paul and Patryk held hands while Tord skipped ahead, occasionally running back to show them a cool rock or trinket he’d found. Paul could feel where Patryk’s ring finger wrapped around his own, and his heart swelled with happiness each time he felt the press of the band against his skin.

At one point, Tord ran far ahead of them, then stopped, staring off into the distance. Paul kept expecting him to snap out of it and return to his normal run, but he seemed transfixed by his own thoughts, and it was only when they reached him and Patryk tapped him on the shoulder that he was able to snap out of it.

“You awake in there, Tord?” Patryk asked

“Yeah, yeah,” Tord said, shaking his head. He still seemed lost, though, not moving, so Paul stopped and waited, trying not to let his concern grow too quickly.

“Paul, Patryk, I was just thinking,” Tord said, “why didn’t I meet Silje for so long?”

Paul looked to Patryk, and saw his own worried expression mirrored there. They had explained little bits of Tord’s history before, but the bulk of it, the fear, the violence, Alexander,  _Maxim_ , they had been waiting for the right time to bring up. Now, it seemed, the time had presented itself.

“It’s a long story,” Paul said, and noticing Tord’s disappointment, he hurried on, “Not that we’re not going to tell you! I’m just warning you, it’s going to take us a while to tell all of it, and there are some details even I’m a little fuzzy on.”

“Which is why we’re going to tell you together,” Patryk said, tightening his grip on Paul’s hand. “Silje should be a part of it too, since there are some pieces only she knows, but we can tell you everything that happened to us, from the day we met.”

“Maybe not  _everything_ ,” Paul said. Tord was still a child, after all.

“Oh, right. The important bits, at least,” Patryk said. “When we get home, we’ll tell you the whole story.”

Tord grinned and started to walk again, letting the adults follow behind him.

“Okay,” he said. “I can’t wait!”

Paul smiled at his son, watching as he walked ahead of them with his head held high. It was nothing like a soldier’s stance, too relaxed and easygoing to fit anywhere in an army, but confident enough to say he owned the ground he walked on. He was happy.

He looked to Patryk, radiant as always, and then to the blue sky, raining sunshine down on them, and he marveled at how peaceful and rejuvenating a simple walk could be, when shared with his two favorite people.

“You’re amazing,” he murmured, and Patryk smiled. There was nothing else to be said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I applaud you for making it this far. By way of thanks, I highly recommend you take a look at the comic version of this chapter, [Part 1](http://myonlysunshine-fanfic.tumblr.com/post/155688237913/part-1-of-a-comic-by-trashpandaballs-based-on) and [Part 2](http://myonlysunshine-fanfic.tumblr.com/post/155688235883/part-2-of-a-comic-by-trashpandaballs-based).


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